THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Professor  ^enneth 
MacGowan 


MACGOWM 


SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 


SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 


OLIVE  TILFORD  DARGAN 


BRENTANO'S 

NEW  YORK 

1904 


Copyright  1904 
By  Olive  Tilford  Dargan 
[Stage  rights  reserved] 


THE   LITERARY   COLLECTOR   PRESS 
GREENWICH,    CONNECTICUT 


P51 


CONTENTS 


SEMIRAMIS  5 

CARLOTTA  75 

THE    POET  -  175 


ERRATA 

Page  33,  line  2,    for    No  more !  read  No  more  ? 

"     95     "30     "      unpalling  "  unpaling 

"  123     "32     "      sacrifices  "  sacrifice 

"  190     "    6      "      bloom  "  blown 

"   196      "  22      "      mummy  "  mammy 


SEMIRAMIS 


ACT  I. 
SCENE  1.    The  tent  of  Menones 

ACT  II. 
SCENE  1.    Hall  in  the  palace  of  Ninus 

ACT  III. 
SCENE  1.    The  gardens  over  the  lake 

ACT  IV. 
SCENE  1.    The  tent  of  Husak 


CHARACTERS 


MINUS,  king  of  Assyria 

HUSAK,  king  of  Armenia 

KHOSROYE,  son  of  Husak 

MENONES,  governor  of  Nineveh 

ARTAYAN,  son  of  Menones 

SUMBAT,  friend  of  Artavan 

VASSIN,  officer  of  the  king 

HADDO,  a  guard 

ARMIN,  a  guard 

DOKAHRA,  woman  to  Semiramis 

SOLA,  wife  of  Artavan 

SEMIRAMIS,  daughter  of  Menones 

Officers,  heralds,  messengers,  guards,  soldiers,  dancers,  &c 


SEMIRAMIS 


ACT  I. 


Scene:  Within  the  tent  of  Menones,  on  the  plain 
before  Nineveh.  Left,  centre,  entrance  to  tent  from  the 
plain.  Curtains  rear,  forming-  partition  with  exits  right 
and  left  of  centre.  The  same  at  right,  with  one  exit, 
centre.  Couch  rear,  between  exits.  From  a  tent-pole 
near  exit,  right  centre,  hang  helmet  and  a  suit  of  chain 
armor. 

Sola  parts  curtains  rear,  left,  and  looks  out,  showing 
effort  to  keep  awake.  She  steps  forward. 

Sol.    Hist!    Armin!    Haddo! 

(Enter  two  guards,  left  centre) 

Still  no  news  ? 

Arm.  None,  lady. 

Sol.    Oh,  Artavan,  what  keeps  thee  ? 

Haddo.  He  will  come. 

Sol.    Semiramis  is  sleeping.    I  am  weary, 
But  I  '11  not  sleep. 


10  SBMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Arm.  Rest,  madam ;  we  will  call  you. 

Sol.    My  lord  shall  find  me  watching,  night  or  day ! 

Arm.    Two  nights  you  have  not  slept. 

Sol.  Ten  thousand  nights, 

I  think,  good  Armin. 

Had.  We  will  call  you,  madam. 

Arm.    With   the   first   hoof-beat  ringing   from    the 
north! 

Sol.     (At  curtains,  drowsily)  I  '11  be — awake. 
(Goes  in) 

Had.          She  '11  sleep  now. 

Arm.  Ay,  she  must. 

Had.    And  I  'd  not  call  her  for  god  Bel  himself! 

Arm.    Hark !     (Goes  to  entrance)     'Tis  a  horseman ! 

Had.     (Following  him)  Two ! 

Arm.  Right !    We  must  rouse 

The  lady  Semiramis. 

Had.  Make  sure  'tis  he.    (They  step  oat) 

Voice  without.  Is  this  Menones'  tent  ? 

Arm.     (Without)    Ay,  Sir!    The  word! 

Voice.    God  Ninus ! 

(Semiramis  enters,  through  curtains  right  centre) 

Sem.  Artavan !    His  voice ! 

(Enter  Artavan,  followed   by  Sumbat  who    waits 
near  entrance) 

Sem.  My  brother ! 

Art.    Semiramis!     (Embracing her)    Three  years 

this  kiss 
Has  gathered  love  for  thee ! 

Sem.  Has  't  been  so  long 

Since  I  left  Gazim  ? 

Art.  Ay,  — since  Ninus  called 

Our  father  here,  and  Gazim  lost  her  dove. 

Sem.     (On  his  bosom,  laughing  softly)    The   dove 
of  Gazim, —  so  they  called  me  then. 


SEMIRAMIS  11 

But  now — (proudly,  moving  from  him)  the  lioness    of 
Nineveh ! 

Art.    A  warrior's  daughter ! 

Sem.  And  a  warrior's  sister ' 

O,  I  have  prayed  that  you  might  come !    The  king 
Is  gracious  —  loves  the  brave — 

Art.  Our  father  ? 

Sem.  Ah! 

Art.    He 'swell? 

Sem.  Is 't  day? 

Art.  Almost. 

Sem.  At  dawn  he  meets 

The  Armenians  on  the  plain. 

Art.  Then  he  is  well ! 

Sem.    He  went  forth  well, —  and  brave  as  when 

he  drove 

The  Ghees  from  Gazim  with  his  single  sword ! 
But  —  oh — he  needs  you,  Artavan,  he  needs  you! 

(Comes  closer,  speaking  rapidly) 
I'm  with  him  night  and  day  but  when  he  battles  — 
I  buckle  on  his  arms— cheer  him  away— 
And  wipe  the  foe's  blood  from  his  mighty  sword 
When  he  returns !    But  I ' ve  a  fear  so  strange ! 
At  times  he's  moved  quite  from  himself, —  so  far 
That  I  look  on  him  and  see  not  our  father ! 
If  I  dared  speak  I  'd  almost  say  that  he 
Who  never  lost  a  battle  shrinks  from  war ! 

Art.     (Starting)  No,  no !  Not  that!  You  borrow  eyes 

of  fear 
And  see  what  is  not ! 

Sem.  But  I've  felt  the  drops 

Cold  on  his  brow,  and  raised  his  lifeless  arms 
Whose  corded  strength  hung  slack  as  a  sick  child's! 
O,  it  is  true !    And  you  must  stand  by  him ! 
Fight  at  his  side !    I  thought  to  do  it !    I ! 


12  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

See  here,  my  armor ! 

(Moving  with  him  to  where  the  armor  hangs) 

When  I  had  this  made 

And  swore  to  wear  it  in  the  fight,  'twas  then 
He  yielded— said  that  you  might  come  — 

(Sound  of  trumpets  at  distance.    They  listen) 

The  charge ! 

Art.    I  go  to  him ! 

Sem.     ( Taking  a  paper  from  her  bosom) 

Take  this !    He  '11  understand ! 
'Tis  some  direction  later  thought  upon ! 

Art.    My  wife  is  safe — 

Sem.  With  me !    Three  days  ago 

She  came.    And  now  she  sleeps— 

(Points  to  curtains,  rear  left) 

Art.  In  there?    One  kiss— 

Sem.  Nay,  nay,  you  go  to  battle,  and  should  keep 
Steel  in  your  eye,  not  woman's  tears!  .  .  .  Who  comes 
With  you? 

(Looks  toward  entrance  where  Sumbat  stands) 
O,  Sumbat ! 

(He  advances  and  drops  on  knee.  She  gives  him 
both  hands  and  he  rises) 

Welcome !    But  no  time 

For  gallant  greetings !    We  are  warriors  here ! 
(A  roll  of  battle  is  heard) 

Art.    We  go! 

Sem.  Ride!  ride!    The  battle  over,  ye 

Shall  meet  the  king! 

(Artavan  and  Sumbat  hasten  out.  The  noise  of  de- 
parture brings  Sola  to  curtains) 

Sol.  What  is  it  ?    Who  was  here  ? 

Sem.     (Absorbed)  They  '11  reach  my  father ! 

Sol.    Not  Artavan? 

Sem.  Ay— he. 


SEMIRAMIS  13 

Sol.  And  gone — my  husband ! 

Without  a  word — a  look ! 

Sem.  The  battle  calls, 

And  he  who  wears  ambition's  spur  must  ride! 

Sol.    Ambition !    O,  you  think  of  naught  but  war 
And  glory !    Hast  thou  no  heart,  Semiramis  ? 

Sem.    I'  faith,  and  love  thee  with  it !     (kisses  her) 

Sol.  Trifle  not ! 

Hadst  thou  a  heart  thou  couldst  not  live  a  maid, 
So  beautiful,  and  never  dream  of  love ! 
Thou'rt  some  strange  thing — 

Sem.  What,  wilt  be  angry  ?    Come ! 

I'll  tell  thee  all  he  said  — thy  Artavan,— 
Ay,  every  word,  and  how  his  eyes  grew  soft 
With  dimness  sweeter  than  their  vanquished  light 
When  thou  wert  his  dear  theme ! 

( They  move  to  curtains.    Semiramis  stops  and  listens) 
Go  in.    I'll  come.     (Sola  goes  in) 

Sem.     (Listening)  Is  that  a  chariot  ?  My  father!..  . 

Nay! 

He 's  safe  with  Artavan !  Whatever  comes 
His  son  will  be  his  heart  and  bear  him  up ! 
Safe,  safe,  Menones,  and  thy  grizzled  locks 
Shall  wear  their  laurels  to  an  honored  grave ! 

(Noise  of  approaching  chariot) 
It  is  a  chariot !    Can  it  be  the  king  ? 

(Chariot  stops  without) 
Armin,  who  is  it  comes  ? 

Arm.  (Appearing  at  entrance)  The  Lord  Menones. 
(Semiramis  sways,  steadies  herself,  and  waits. 
Menones  enters,  livid  and  trembling.  In  form  he  is  large 
and  mighty,  but  is  grey  with  age.  He  staggers  over  to 
couch  and  sits  upon  it,  groaning  heavily.  Semiramis 
looks  at  him  in  silence.  Then  approaches  and  speaks  in 
a  low  terrified  tone) 


14  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Sem.    You  fled  the  battle ! 

Men.  Oh ! 

Sem.  You  must  go  back ! 

Men.    Too  late ! 

Sem.     (Gaining    courage    and    putting   her    hands 
sternly  on  his  shoulders)     No ! 

Men.  We  must  fly ! 

Sem.  Fly!    Never! 

Men.     (Rising)  Come ! 

The  chariot !    The  king  will  leave  my  race 
No  blood  on  earth ! 

Sem.  If  it  be  coward's  blood 

'Tis  better  lost ! 

Aden.  Come,  come !    We  yet  can  fly  ! 

Sem.    Back  to  the  battle !    There  I  '11  go  with  thee ! 

Men.    I  can  not!  Oh,  the  terror's  here  —  here — here! 
It  clutches  at  my  heart ! 

Sem.  Tear  out  thy  heart 

And  keep  thy  honor  whole ! 

(He  falls  on  the  couch,  shaken  with  suffering.    She 
kneels  by  him  pleading  passionately) 

Sem.  Up,  father,  up  ! 

You  must  go  back!    You  know  not  what  you've  done! 
Our  Artavan  — 

Men.  Praise  Bel,  he's  safe  in  Gazim ! 

Sem.    No  ...  he  is  here  ...  he  came,  and  rode  to  find 
you. 

Men.    He  came  ?    Gods,  no ! 

Sem.  Nay,  true !    He's  in  the  battle ! 

Now  you  will  go !    You  will  go  back,  my  father ! 
He  does  not  know  the  plan !    He  can  not  lead 
Without  your  counsel!    Come — your  voice — his  arm — 
And  all  is  safe ! 

(He  rises  ;  noise  of  battle ;  he  sinks  shuddering) 

Men.  No  — I'll  die  here— not  there ! 


SEMIRAMIS  15 

(Semiramis  stands  in  despair;  then  lifts  her  arms 
praying) 

Sem.    O  mighty  Belus,  give  me  back  my  father ! 

(She  listens  with  sudden  eagerness  and  goes  to  tent 
door) 

False !  false !    They're  verging  south !     North,  north,  ye 
cowards ! 

(Rushes  to  her  armor  and  takes  it  down.  Shakes  the 
curtains  right,  and  calls) 

Dokahra!     (Throws  off  her  robe  and   begins  putting 
on  armor.    Enter  Dokahra,  right  centre) 

Dok.        Mistress ! 

Sem.  Buckle  here !    Be  quick ! 

Men.    You  shall  not  go ! 

Sem.  You  have  no  might  or  right 

To  stay  me  now ! 

Men.  You  will  be  lost ! 

Sem.  Lost?    No! 

Did  I  not  plan  this  battle  ?    Haste,  Dokahra ! 
Our  lives  are  in  your  fingers !    Courage,  father ! 

(Going,  Dokahra  still  adjusting  armor) 
The  king  has  smiled  on  me — I  do  not  know  — 
But  there  was  such  a  promise  in  his  smile  — 
And  if  the  victory 's  mine  he  will  forgive ! 

Dok.    This  rivet,  mistress ! 

(Noise  of  battle) 

Sem.  Artavan,  I  come ! 

(Rushes  out.  Sound  of  chariot  rolling  away. 
Dokahra  looks  stolidly  at  Menones  for  a  moment,  then 
turns  through  curtains,  right.  Menones  presses  his  heart 
in  pain,  moans  wretchedly,  and  draws  a  blanket  over  his 
body) 

Men.    Is  this  the  form  that  bright  Decreto  loved  ? 
But  where  the  soul,  O,  gods !     (Lies  shuddering) 

Voice  without.  The  King ! 


16  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

(Menones  draws  blanket  over  his  face  and  becomes 
motionless.    Enter  the  king,  with  Vassin) 

Nin.     (At  entrance)  Stand  here ! 

Godagon,  haste !  Ride  to  Menones ;  say 
We  wait  within  his  tent ;  his  messengers 
Will  reach  us  here. 

(A  rider  spurs  off  without.    Ninus  and  Vassin  ad- 
vance within  the  tent) 

Vas.  Your  majesty,  suppose 

The  Armenians  gain,  you'll  be  in  danger  here. 
Why  come  so  near  for  news  ? 

Nin.  For  news,  good  Vassin  ? 

1  had  a  better  reason.    Semiramis 
Tents  with  her  father. 

(Points  to  curtains) 

Vas.  Ah! 

Nin.  The  sun  will  break 

Through  there ! 

Vas.  My  lord - 

Nin.  She  stirs!    She  comes!    Wait— see! 

(Dokahra's  gaunt  figure  appears  at  curtains) 

Vas.    A  false  dawn,  is  it  not  ? 

Nin.  Your  mistress  sleeps  ? 

Dok.     (Abasing  herself) 
No,  mighty  king ! 

Mn.  She 's  up  ?    Then  give  her  word 

We're  here. 

Dok.        She 's  not  within,  my  lord. 

Nin.  Abroad ! 

So  soon  ?    She 's  on  the  general's  business  ? 

Dok.    And  yours,  O  king !    She 's  joined  the  battle ! 

Nin.  She! 

Fas.    Ha!  ha!    Do  you  believe  this  ? 

Mn.  Ay.    .  .  .  'tis  so. 

I  know  her  spirit.    Here's  mettle  for  a  queen ! 


SEMIRAMIS  17 

(Menones  uncovers  and  half  rises) 

Fas.    You  would  not  make  her  one,  your  majesty ! 
Though  she  should  lead  your  troops  to  victory, 
Still  is  she  but  your  general's  daughter,  and 
Assyria's  crown  is  given  of  gods  to  gods ! 

Mn.    And  Ninus  knows  to  keep  his  race  untainted. 
But  all  the  jewels  of  a  king,  my  Vassin, 
Are  not  worn  in  his  crown.    Some  in  the  heart 
Are  casketed,  and  there  this  maid  shall  shine 
For  me  alone.    Were  she  of  heavenly  race  — 

Men.     (Starting  up)    She  is,  my  lord ! 

(Ninus  regards  him  in  astonishment) 

Nin.  What  do  you  here,  Menones  ? 

Speak ! 

Men.     (Trembling)  I  am  ill. 

Nin.  Ill,  sir  ?    Ha !    Now  1  know ! 

Your  daughter  leads  while  you  couch  safe  in  tent ! 
She  sought  to  hide  your  shame !    O,  what  a  heart ! 
But  you  — 

Men.    I  led,  my  lord,  till  illness  seized  — 

Nin.    Too  ill  to  fight,  but  not  too  ill  to  fly ! 
Hound!  hound!    My  troops  are  lost !    I'd  kill  you  now 
But  'tis  an  hour  too  soon !    First  you  must  be 
Of  every  honor  stript ! 

Men.     (Kneeling)     My  lord  and  king, 
I  know  that  I  must  die,  but  hear  a  prayer 
For  my  brave  daughter's  sake !    Betray  her  not, 
Lest  thou  offend  the  gods  that  gave  thee  life, 
For  she,  too,  is  of  heaven ! 

Vas.  Ha ! 

Men.  I  swear 

'Tis  true !    My  lord,  Decreto  was  her  mother ! 
She  met  me  on  the  plains  of  Gazim  when 
This  aged  figure  was  called  fair,  and  youth 
Still  fed  its  fire  to  manhood's  prime ; 


18  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Our  babe  she  left  upon  a  mountain  crest 
And  sent  her  doves  to  tend  it  through  a  year, 
Then  bade  me  scale  the  mount  and  take  my  own. 
I  did,  and  named  her  for  Decreto's  dove  — 
Semiramis ! 

Nin.        What  precious  tale  is  this  ? 

Fas.    He  thinks  to  fright  you  from  the  maid,  my 

lord. 
Dok.     (Falling-  at  the  king's  feet)    O  king,  'tis  true! 

Ask  thou  in  Gazim — 
Nin.  Go ! 

(Dokahra  vanishes  through  curtains  left  rear)      . 
Nin.    'Twill  take  a  better  lie  to  save  your  head ! 
Men.    My  head?    Thou' rt  welcome  to  it!    'Tis  not 

that! 
But  she  —  my  daughter — 

Ma.  We  will  spare  her  life. 

Men.     (Calmly)     It  is  my  prayer  that  she  may  die 

with  me. 

Nin.  Not  while  we  love.  If  e'er  she  lose  her  charm, 
We  may  remember  that  you  were  her  father. 

Men.     (Furiously,    forgetting  himself)     She    has    a 

brother  yet ! 

Nin.  A  brother !    So ! 

We'll  look  to  him  as  well !    Thanks  for  your  news ! 

Men.     (Towering  up)    Though  every  god  in  heaven 

gave  thee  blood 
Yet  would  I  spill  it ! 

(Lifts  his  sword;  suddenly  drops  it  and  falls,  press- 
ing his  heart.  Ninus  and  Vassin  watch  him  silently  until 
he  is  still) 

Nin.  Dead  ? 

Fas.     (Stooping)  Ay,  dead,  my  lord. 

Nin.    I  would  have  spared  him  though  I  threatened 
death. 


SEMIRAMIS  19 

Vas.    Have     spared     the     coward?      Why,     your 
majesty  ? 

Nin.    Semiramis  has  spirit  passing  woman's ; 
I  have  no  hope  to  force  her  to  my  arms, 
And  I  'd  have  wrought  her  heart  to  tenderness 
By  mercy  to  her  father.    Love  is  my  aim ! 
All  else  I  can  command — but  that — Guards  here! 

(Enter  Armin  and  Haddd) 

Not  you — my  own!    But  wait  —  a  word!    Where  sleeps 
Menones  ? 

Arm.     (Pointing)     There,  O  king ! 

(The  body  of  Menones  lies  behind  the  king  find 
\  rassin,  unseen  by  thegaurds.  Exeunt  Armin  and  Haddo. 
Enter  the  king's  guards) 

Nin.  Take  up  this  body. 

Place  it  within. 

(Guards  go  in  with  Menones'  body) 

Vas.  What  would  you  do,  my  lord  ? 

Nin.    You  '11  know  in  time. 

(Re-enter guards)         Hark!    You  saw  nothing ! 

Guards.     (Bowing  to  floor}  Nothing, 

O  mighty  Ninus !     (Exeunt) 

Nin.  I  will  have  her  love ! 

Vassin,  this  story  of  her  goddess  birth 
Is  true ! 

Vas.    How  knows  your  majesty  ? 

Nin.  It  speaks 

In  all  her  motions.    Every  glance  and  grace 
Kevouches  it.     E'en  your  dull  eye  must  know 
Her  beauty  is  immortal,  though  her  life 
Is  forfeit  to  the  clay  and  must  have  end. 

Fas.    Thou 'It  find  another  fair!    Youth  blooms  and 
goes! 

Nin.    Not  such  as  hers !    Her  brow  's  a  holy  page 
Where  chiselling  Time  dare  never  set  a  mark ! 


20  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

The  sun  hath  been  her  lover,  and  so  deep 

Hath  touched  her  locks  with  fire  no  winter  hand 

May  shake  his  kisses  out ! 

Fas.  Why,  thou  'rt  in  love ! 

(Confused  voices  without.    A  messenger  runs  in  and 
falls  at  the  feet  of  the  king) 

Nin.    Speak,  sir ! 

Mes.  Assyria  wins !    The  Armenians  fly ! 

They've  lost  their  leader— 

Nin.  Khosrove !    Is  he  taken  ? 

Mes.    Taken  or  slain,  I  know  not  which,  but  know 
He  leads  no  more  the  enemy !    They  fly 
Before  Semiramis ! 

Nin.  Semiramis ! 

Mes.    Ay,  all  was  rout  until  she  reached  the  field 
And  spurred  the  — 

Voice  of  herald  without.    Victory !    A  victory ! 
Ninus  is  god  and  king ! 

Cries.  A  victory ! 

(Enter  herald) 

Herald.    Assyria  triumphs  o'er  his  enemies ! 

Nin.    Is  Khosrove  taken  ? 

Her.  Slain,  the  people  cry ! 

The  soldiers  hail  Semiramis  their  chief, 
Call  her  a  goddess,  drag  her  chariot, 
And  shout  and  swear  by  Belus'  ruling  star 
To  be  her  slaves  forever ! 

Nin.  So  they  shall. 

Fas.    Your  majesty — 

Nin.  Peace,  Vassin !    Wait  and  see ! 

(Noise   and  cries  without  as  Semiramis  is  drawn 
toward  the  tent  in  her  chariot) 

Nin.    Ho !    Guards ! 

(The   king's  guards  enter.      Ninus  passes  to  right 
centre,  facing  entrance  opposite.    Guards  station  them- 


SEMIRAMIS  21 

selves  on  each  side  of  him  and  in  his  rear.  Semiramis  en- 
ters, followed  by  officers  and  soldiers.  Her  helmet  is  off, 
her  hair  falling) 

Nin.  Hail  goddess ! 

(Semiramis  looks  at  the  king  in  astonishment,  then 
glances  fearfully  toward  Menones'  room) 

Nin.  Hail,  Assyria's  queen  ! 

Sem.     (Faintly)    O  king— 

(Ninus  advances  to  her.    She  kneels  before  him) 

Nin.  Kneel  down,  Menones'  daughter !    Rise, 

The  bride  of  Ninus,  nevermore  to  kneel ! 

(Raises  her) 

This  victory  is  proof,  if  proof  I  need, 
That  you  are  a  true  daughter  of  the  skies, 
Mate  for  the  mightiest  throne ! 

(To  soldiers)     Cry  festival ! 
The  feast  of  triumph  and  the  wedding  revel 
We'll  hold  together !    Go ! 

(Exeunt  soldiers,  cheering  without) 

Nin.     ( Taking  the  hand  of  Semiramis) 

To-day  thou  'It  come  ? 

Sem.     ( Withdrawing  her  hand  and  bo  wing  her  head) 
I  am  my  king's. 

Nin.     (Passing  to  exit)    The  royal  chariot, 
Within  the  hour,  will  take  you  from  the  tent 
Unto  our  palace. 

(Exeunt  Ninus  and  attendants.     Semiramis  stands 
dazed.    Sola  comes  out  softly  and  looks  at  her) 

Sem.     (In  rapture)     Ah,  my  father's  safe! 
I'll  tell  him! 

(Hurries  toward  curtains  right,  rear,  and  stops  at 
exit)  No  ...  I  '11  wait.    This  joy  is  dead 

If  Artavan  be  lost ! 

(Sola  springs  toward  her  with  a  cry) 

Sol.  Be  lost  ?    Ah,  no ! 


22  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Where  is  he  ?    Oh,  not  lost ! 

Sem.  He  pushed  too  far 

Amid  the  flying  troops. 

Sol.  And  you — you  stole 

His  last  look  from  my  eyes ! 

Sem.  He  may  be  saved. 

For  Sumbat  followed  him.    He  must  be  saved ! 
We  '11  hope  till  Sumbat  comes. 

Sol.  0,  you  know  naught 

Of  love! 

Sem.    I  was  his  sister,  Sola,  ere 
He  made  thee  wife. 

Sol.  A  sister !    O,  such  love 

Is  nothing !    Thou  wilt  smile  at  it 
If  ever  thou  'rt  a  wife ! 

(Semiramis  is  removing  her  armor.    She  stops  and 
looks  questioningly  at  Sola;  then  shakes  her  head) 

Sem.  Nay,  Sola,  nay !  .  .  . 

Help  me  with  this.  .  .    Somehow  my  heart  is  gone 
And  armor  's  for  the  brave. 

(Putting  on  her  robe)     Now  't  has  come  back. 
But  beats  and  whispers  like  a  maiden's  own. 
I  am  but  half  a  warrior.  .  .    Do  not  sob. 
Sumbat  will  bring  us  news.    .    .    Ah,  he  has  come ! 
(Enter  Sumbat) 

Sol.     (Rushing  to  him  and  looking  into  his  face) 
Oh,  lost!     (Flies,    sobbing,   through  the  curtains,  rear 
left) 

Sem.    Speak.    .    .    Is  it  true? 

Sum.  I  fear  it  is. 

I  could  not  save  him,  and  they  bore  him  off. 

Sem.    Alive  ? 

Sum.  Alive ! 

Sem.  A  prisoner !    Not  slain ! 

Then  we  may  hope !    I  've  captured  Husak's  son ! 


SEMIRAMIS  23 

Sam.    Khosrove !    Is  he  not  under  guard  without  ? 
A  man  most  fair.    .    .    of  lordly  form,  and  young  ? 

Sem.    'Tis  he !    Have  him  brought  hither  instantly ! 
To  Husak  word  shall  go  on  swiftest  steed 
That  I  will  yield  the  prince  for  Artavan ! 

(Exit  Sutnbat) 
He's  safe.    .    .     if  there  be  time.    .    .    if  there  be  time ! 

.    .    Husak,  the  Fierce.    .    .    but  he  must  love  his  son, 
And  will  be  merciful  to  save  him.    Ay    .    . 
So  brave  a  son.    Now  I  recall  his  face, 
It  would  have  made  me  pause  had  not  my  eyes 
Been  dim  with  triumph. 

(Enter  Sumbat,  followed  by  officers  with  Khosrove. 
The  officers  fall  back,  leaving  the  captive  before  Semi- 
ramis.  He  is  stripped  of  all  armor,  and  clothed  in  a 
scant  tunic  revealing-  a  figure  of  marked  strength  and 
grace.  He  stands  erect,  but  with  head  bowed,  and 
his  arms  bound  to  his  sides) 

Sem.  (Gazes  at  him)  Ah !  .  .  .  ( She  advances 
a  step) 

Armenian ! 

(At  sound  of  her  voice  he  lifts  his  head  and  looks  at 
her  with  eager  recognition) 

Sem.     (Stepping  back)    Armenian ! 

Khos.     (Proudly)  Armenia,  by  your  leave ! 

I  am  my  father's  house. 

Sem.  I  'm  glad  'tis  so. 

Then  he  should  value  thee. 

Khos.  He  does. 

Sem.  So  much 

That  he  will  spare  the  life  of  Artavan 
If  we  spare  yours  ? 

Khos.  Who  is  this  Artavan 

Who  evens  me  in  price  ? 

Sem.  Menones'  son. 


24  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Khos.    Menones  ?    Governor  of  Nineveh  ? 
Who  fled  my  sword,  fear-cold,  and  pale  with  terror  ? 
Insult  not  Husak  with  so  poor  a  suit ! 
That  coward's  race — 

Sem.  Am  I  a  coward,  sir  ? 

Khos.     (In  sudden  dejection)     These  fettered  arms 
make  answer,  princess. 

Sem.  Nay, 

I  am  Menones'  daughter,  —  Artavan 
My  brother ! 

Khos.       Not  the  Assyrian  princess  ?    0, 
Forgive  me,  lady !    I  am  proud  to  be 
Thy  brother's  price ! 

Sem.  What  surety  have  I 

That  Artavan  still  lives  ? 

Khos.  My  word. 

Officer.  His  word ! 

O,  noble  madam,  it  is  known  to  all 
That  Husak  takes  no  prisoners  of  war. 
They  die  before  his  tent. 

Khos.  Such  is  the  custom  — 

Sem.    O  me,  my  brother ! 

Khos.  But  I  can  avouch 

That  Artavan  still  lives. 

Off.  Trust  not  the  word 

Of  captive  foes,  my  lady.    By  what  means 
Can  he  know  this  ? 

Sem.  Speak,  sir. 

Khos.  To  you  alone 

I '11  speak. 

Sem.       Nay— before  all! 

Khos.  Unto  no  ear 

But  thine. 

Sem.        Wouldst  save  thy  life  ? 

Khos.  Perhaps.    Wouldst  save 


SEMIRAMIS  25 

Thy  brother  ? 

Sem.  Sumbat,  wilt  advise  me  ? 

Sum.  Trust  him, 

And  hear  what  he  would  say. 

Sem.  Out  then,  my  friends, 

I  pray  you. 

(AU  go  out  but  Semiramis  and  Khosrove.) 
Now! 

Khos.  My  father  swore  to  me 

Before  I  led  his  troops  'gainst  Nineveh, 
All  captives  should  be  held  at  my  disposal 
And  bloody  custom  waived.     I  would  not  speak 
'Fore  all,  lest  I  should  rob  fierce  Husak's  name 
Of  terror  which  is  half  his  sword. 

Sem.  But  now 

He  thinks  you  dead. 

Khos.  Not  so.    I ' ve  sent  him  word 

By  a  sure  mouth  that  I  'm  unhurt  and  held 
A  prisoner. 

Sem.         O  then  my  brother's  safe ! 
How  gracious  art  thou,  Heaven ! 

(Steps  towards  entrance)  Sumbat! 

Khos.     (Stepping-  before  her)  Wait ! 

Sem.    What  more  ? 

Khos.  All  —  everything — there 's  nothing  said  ! 

Ninus  will  spare  me  not !    'Tis  thou  must  save  me ! 

Sem.    I!    No!    The  king! 

Khos.  Not  he !    Is  Artavan 

Grown  dearer  than  his  hate  to  Husak  ?    Nay  — 

Sem.          Sir,  fear  not  Ninus.     He  will  grant  my  suit. 

Khos.    He  will?    You — you  — 

Sem.  I've  saved  his  army ! 

Khos.     (Relieved)  Ah ! 

No  more  than  that  ? 

Sem.  Enough ! 


26  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Khos.  No !    'Twill  not  wipe 

Revenge  from  out  his  heart, —  and  you  have  saved 
But  that  your  father  threw  away. 

Sem.  Peace,  sir ! 

Khos.    There '  s  but  one  way  for  me — escape ! 

Sem.  No  more ! 

Nay  —  not  another  word ! 

Khos.  I  must  escape — 

Sem.  Not  one ! 

Khos.    That  word  unsaid  slays  Artavan, 
Spoken  it  saves  him !    Once  in  Ninus'  power 
I  have  no  hope  of  life,  and  with  me  dies 
Your  brother. 

Sem.     (Scornfully)    Do  not  fear ! 

Khos.  I  fear  ?    By  Heaven  ! 

Think  you  this  heart  is  not  a  soldier's  own 
Because  'tis  captive  to  a  woman's  sword  ? 
A  woman's  sword !    O  little  had  thy  sword 
To  do  with  my  defeat !    Unarmed  thou  wouldst 
Have  taken  me— for  'twas  thy  beauty  struck 
My  weapon  to  my  side !     (rapidly  and  passionately) 

When  I  bore  down 

Upon  your  chariot,  I  could  have  swept  you 
With  one  arm  from  the  world !    But  suddenly 
A  missile  struck  your  helmet  and  dislodged 
The  glory  of  your  face  before  my  eyes, 
Your  hair  ran  gold,  the  shining  East  looked  black 
Behind  the  star  you  made  upon  its  breast ! 
I  knew  thee  for  a  goddess,  and  stood  still 
Meek  captive  to  thy  wish !    O  blest  am  I 
To  learn  thou  art  not  greater  than  myself, 
But  so  much  less  that  I  may  lift  thee  up ! 
Fly  with  me — be  my  queen  — 

(Semiramis  tries  to  speak) 

Go,  call  them  in ! 


SEMIRAMIS  27 

I  '11  shout  above  their  heads  to  reach  thine  ears ! 

O,  trust  to  me !    In  me  thy  brother  lives ! 

Come,  and  thy  fallen  father  shall  be  brave 

Beneath  Armenia's  smile !    Here  thou  mayst  save 

His  life,  but  ne'er  again  will  he  know  honor ! 

Help  me  to  fly  and  save  three  lives  in  one ! 

Give  me  to  Ninus — give  me  up  to  death, 

And  with  a  father  and  a  brother  lost, 

Though  thou  wert  worshipped  'mong  thy  country's  gods 

Still  thou  couldst  not  be  happy ! 

Sem.  Sir— 

Khos.  But  come, 

And  they  are  safe ! 

Sem.     (Bewildered)     What  do  I  hear  ? 

Khos.  O,  come ! 

Dost  know  what  love  is,  daughter  of  Menones  ? 
It  is  the  fire  that  dead  puts  out  the  light 
On  every  hearth,  living  makes  all  the  world 
One  altar  feeding  incense  unto  Heaven ! 
It  gives  the  soul  to  life,  breath  to  the  soul, 
Pulse  to  ambition,  strength  to  warrior  arms, — 

(Struggling  with  his  fetters) 

Such  strength  that  they  may  break  all  captive  bonds 
To  clasp  their  own ! 

(Breaks  his  fetters  and  attempts  to  embrace  her  as 
she  retreats  gazing  at  him  as  if  fascinated.  She  escapes 
him,  and  throws  off  her  bewilderment.  He  drops  to  his 
knees  holding  out  his  arms  to  her) 

And  love  I  offer  thee ! 

Sem.    Sir,  I  forgive  thee,  for  thou  knowest  not 
To  whom  you  speak ! 

Khos.  Know  not ! 

Sem.  I  who  am  now 

Menones'  daughter,  ere  the  night  shall  be 
The  bride  of  Ninus,  king  of  all  Ass3rria ! 


28  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

(Khosrove  rises,  bows  before  her,  and  stands  with 
silent  dignity) 

Sem.    You — you  —  were  saying — 

Khos.  Nothing,  royal  madam. 

Have  you  not  friends  without  ? 

(Semiramis  hesitates,  goes  to  door  and  calls) 

Sem.    Sumbat!     (To  Khosrove)    Thou 'rt  safe! 

Khos,     (Ironically)     Assyria's  queen  should  know! 

Sem.  She  does ! 

(Re-enter  Sumbat  and  officers) 

Sum.  Unbound ! 

Sem.    Ay,  he  is  free !    We  only  wait  the  word 
Of  gracious  Ninus.    Guard  him  until  then, 
We  charge  you,  Sumbat.    Keep  you  nearest  him. 

(Exeunt  Sumbat  and  officers  with  Khosrove) 

Sem.    My   father  now!    He  must  have  heard    the 

shouts 

Of  victory,  yet  still  he  hides  himself. 
....  The  king  asked  not  for  love.    He  is  Assyria. 
I  would  not  lessen  him  by  love.    Not  yet  .  .  . 
'Tis  my  triumphant  arms  he  weds.    The  heart 
Must  sleep  .... 

Voice  of  guard  at  entrance.     The  king  approaches ! 

Sem.  Ah !  ...  The  king ! 

His  word,  and  all  is  done.    I  '11  speak  to  him 
Before  I  see  my  father.    Then  I  may  say 
'Thou  art  forgiven,  and  Artavan  is  safe ! ' 
.  .  And  Khosrove  ....  safe  ....    The  royal  chariot !  .  . 
O,  mother,  send  thy  doves  — I  am  once  more 
A  babe! 

(The  king  enters  alone) 

Nin.    Art  ready  for  thy  king  ? 

Sem.  I  am  — 

And  yet  —  a  word  before  I  go !    Thou  know'st 
That  Khosrove  is  my  prisoner — 


SEMIRAMIS  29 

Nin.  Khosrove !    He ! 

We  thought  him  slain ! 

Sem.  Nay,  sir  — 

Nin.  A  prisoner ! 

O,  welcome  gift !    We  ask  no  other  dower ! 

Sem.    But,  gracious  lord  — 

Nin.     (Turning  to  entrance)      Ho,  Vassin!      Khos- 
rove 's  taken ! 

Go !    Find  him  out  and  drag  him  straight  to  dungeon ! 
Bind  him  with  chains  until  he  can  not  move, 
Till  we  've  devised  some  bitter  way  of  death ! 

Fas.     (Without)     I  haste,  my  lord ! 

Sem.  At  last  my  enemy  is  'neath  my  feet ! 

(Returning'  to  Semiramis) 
And  'tis  to  thee  we  owe  this  gift  of  fortune! 
.  .  You  're  pale,  Semiramis. 

Sem.  O  king  — 

Nin.     (Taking  her  hands)  And  trembling. 

Dost  fear  my  greatness  ?    Nay,  thou  ledst  my  army  — 

Sem.    O,  if  for  that  thou  ow'st  me  aught,  grant  me— 

Nin.    Whate'er  thou  wouldst ! 

Sem.  My  brother,  Artavan, 

Is  Husak's  captive !    Thou  canst  save  him ! 

Nin.  I ? 

Then  he  is  saved !    But  h«w !    Tell  me  the  way ! 

Sem.    Husak  will  yield  him  up  for  Khosrove ! 

Nin.  .  What 

Send  Khosrove  back  alive !    Not  though  the  gods 
Commanded  it !    Alive !    'Twas  Husak  slew 
My  father,  and  his  son  shall  die !    Ten  years 
I  've  sought  for  this  revenge !    And  give  it  up 
For  a  green  lad  fresh  from  the  fields  of  Gazim  ? 

Sem.    A  warrior,  sir,  who  '11  win  thee  many  a  battle ! 
And  crest  thy  glory  with  meridian  stars ! 
He 's  worth  the  price  though  pity  lent  no  coin ! 


30  SBMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Save  him,  my  lord !    A  bridal  boon  I  ask ! 
Give  me  my  brother ! 

Nin.  A  bridal  boon  I'll  grant. 

Thou  lov'st  thy  father  ? 

Sem.     (Choking)         You  know  — that  he— 

Nin.  I  know. 

Sem.    Great  king — 

Nin.  One  thou  mayst  save. 

Sem.  O  gods ! 

Nin.    Thy   brother,    or    thy   father?     Thou    mayst 
choose. 

Sem.    I  know  my  duty,  sir.    I  choose  my  father. 

Nin.    A  noble  choice.    We  are  not  harsh,  my  queen. 
The  people  know  Menones'  life  is  forfeit, 
And  know  how  I  have  sought  for  Khosrove's  death ; 
Did  I  spare  both  for  your  sake  they  would  say 
That  Ninus'  scepter  is  a  woman's  hand. 

(Shouts  of  rejoicing  -without) 
But  come !    The  chariot  waits.    The  people  call. 

Sem.    First  will  I  tell  my  father  that  he  lives. 
He 's  waiting  there  the  summons  to  his  death. 
Ah,  I  must  thank  you,  sir. 

(Takes  the  king's  hand  and  kisses  it.  Goes  through 
curtains,  right,  rear.  Her  cry  is  heard  within.  She 
returns.) 

Too  late !    He 's  dead ! 
Cold,  cold,  my  father !    Oh ! 

(Sobs,  her  hands  covering  her  face) 

Nin.  (Removing  her  hands  and  putting  his  arm 
about  her)  Thou'rt  not  alone, 

My  bride ! 

Sem.  ( Withdrawing  and  kneeling  to  him,  her  hands 
upraised)  O  king,  leave  me  my  brother ! 

Nin.  Nay! 

Did  you  not  have  your  choice  ?    You  ask  too  much. 


SEMIRAMIS  31 

Sem.     (Rising)    Ah,  so  I  do !    I  should  demand,  not 
ask! 

Mn.    Demand ! 

Sem.  Ay,  king!  .  .  .  'Tis  true  I'm  not  alone. 

My  goddess  mother  is  again  with  me 
As  when  this  morn  my  heart  exultant  rode 
The  tides  of  triumph !    When  the  heavens  rolled 
And  like  a  stooping  sea  caught  up  my  soul 
Till  ranged  with  the  applauding  gods  it  clapped 
My  courage  on  below !    You  offer  me 
A  place  beside  your  throne.    I  offer  you 
The  hearts  of  all  your  subjects  now  my  own, — 
The  love — the  worship  of  your  mighty  army ! 

(Cries  without) 
They  shout  my  name  —  not  yours — great  Ninus !    Hear ! 

Shouts :    Semiramis  is  queen !    Semiramis ! 

Sem.    I    bring  a  hand,   with  yours  inlocked,   shall 

reach 

O'er  Asia's  breadth  and  draw  her  glory  in ! 
A  heart  ambitious  with  immortal  beat 
To  make  Assyria  greatest  'neath  the  stars  ! 
And  in  return  I  ask  my  brother's  life ! 
Give  me  your  promise  Khosrove  goes  to  Husak, 
Or  leave  me  where  I  stand  —  Menones'  daughter ! 

Nin.     (Slowly,  reading  the  determination  in  her  face) 
I  promise. 

Sem.       Swear ! 

Nin.  I  swear  it ! 

Sem.     (Relaxes,    falls    at    his  feet,    and  reaches    up, 
clasping  his  hands)  O,  god  Ninus ! 

(CURTAIN) 


32  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 


ACT    II. 


The  great  hall  in  the  palace  of  Nineveh.  The  rear  is 
open,  showing-  the  sky  and  the  towers  of  the  city. 
Along  the  floor,  which  is  high  above  the  ground  court, 
rear,  are  sculptured  lions.  On  each  side  of  hall  where 
right  and  left  reach  open  rear  are  large  entrances,  with 
steps  leading  up  to  hall,  guarded  by  spearmen  and 
archers.  Within  the  hall,  between  winged  bulls,  are 
entrances  to  chambers,  right  centre  and  left  centre.  Near 
front,  right,  smaller  entrance  between  figures  of  men 
with  lion  heads.  The  same  opposite,  left.  The  walls  of 
the  hall  are  lined  with  alabaster  slabs  on  which  are 
sculptured  and  colored  the  conquests  of  Assyrian  kings. 

Ninus  alone.    Enter  Vassin,  left  centre. 

Nin.     (As  Vassin  enters)     You  've  told  her  ? 

Fas.  Ay,  ray  lord. 

Nin.  What  does  she  say  ? 

Does  she  suspect  we  ordered  Khosrove's  torture  ? 

Vas.    I  can  not  answer  that. 

Nin.  Then  answer  this ! 

You're  sure  that  he  will  die  ?    You  made  good  work  ? 

Fas.    Good  work,  my  lord.    He  can  not  live  a  day. 

Nin.    A  day !    You've  hurried  then !    I  bade  you  fill 
His  wounds  with  mortal  but  a  lingering  bane ! 
Go,  have  him  brought  within !    He  must  not  die 
Without  my  foot  upon  his  neck ! 

(As  Vassin  is  going)  What  said 

The  queen  ? 


SBMIRAMIS  33 

Fas.    She  cried  '  My  brother 's  lost ! ' 

Nin.  No  more ! 

Fas.    O,  then  her  soul  put  sorrow's  grandeur  on, 
And  those  about  her  saw  a  noble  storm ; 
Rut  yet  so  proud  her  royal  eyes,  each  drop 
That  fell  from  them  were  worth  a  world 
To  him  for  whom  they  fell ! 

Mn.     (Aside)  He  loves  the  queen ! 

(Enter  Semiramis,  left,  centre) 

Sem.    Is  this  thing  true,  my  lord  ?    O,  surely  Heaven 
Will  cry  out '  No '  though  thou  must  answer  '  Ay ! ' 

Mn.     (To  Vassin)     Go !      (Exit  Vassin,  right  front) 

Sem.  Is  it  true  ? 

Mn.  Too  true,  my  queen ! 

Khosrove  is  maimed  beyond  all  hope  of  life, 
And  thou  must  make  thy  husband  heir  to  love 
That  was  thy  brother's. 

Sem.  Oh! 

Mn.  Thy  grief  is  mine. 

Sem.    I  will  not  weep,  though  I  could  shed  such 

streams 

As  when  the  clouds  from  riven  breast  pour  down 
Their  torrent  agonies !  .  .  .  How  strange,  my  lord, 
The  guards  should  venture  so  without  your  warrant ! 

Mn.    I've  had  their  heads  for  it ! 

Sem.     (Shocked)  Their  heads !  .  .  .  Why,  this 

'Tis  to  be  royal !    Ah! 

Mn.  Put  by  these  thoughts, 

Semiramis.    No  theme  to-day  but  love ! 

Sem.    Love,  sir  ? 

Mn.  Ay,  that !    Thou  lov'st  me,  dost  thou  not  ? 

Sem.    Thou  art  great  Ninus ! 

Mn.  I  'd  be  loved  as  man ! 

Forget  my  kingdom,  and  put  arms  about  me 
As  doth  the  peasant  maid  her  beggar  lord ! 


34  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Sem.     (Moving  from  him)    I  thought  thy  greatness 

married  my  ambition 
To  make  Assyria  brave  e'en  to  the  gods ! 
I  '11  keep  my  promise  .  .  .  howsoever  thine 
Is  broken.    Crowned,  my  glorious  purpose  beats 
Higher  than  any  dream  my  maiden  heart 
Could  nourish !    I  will  keep  my  word.    But  love  ? 
If  thou  wouldst  have  it — win  it ! 

(Starts  away,  then  turns  back  to  him) 

Hast  yet  found 
A  governor  for  the  city  ? 

Nin.  No. 

Sem.  Delay 

At  this  unsettled  time  ?    Dost  think  it  safe  ? 

Nin.    I  've  ordered  every  tower- watch  redoubled, 
Each  gate  close-locked,  and  keep  the  keys  myself! 
None  goes  or  comes  till  I  have  found  the  man 
For  governor. 

Sem.  Would  not  Vassin  serve  ? 

Nin.     (With  suspicion)    I 've  other  use  for  him.     Per- 
chance he  '11  go 
From  Nineveh. 

Sem.  My  lord,  there 's  one  from  Gazim, 

Sumbat,  thou  'It  find  as  true  as  thine  own  heart, 
Who  with  some  aid  from  me — 

Nin.  From  you  ?    So,  so ! 

Sem.     (In  surprise)    I.  was  my   father's  head  and 

hand,  my  lord. 

Who  knows  the  guardian  locks  and  wards  and  plans 
Secretive  for  thy  safety  but  myself? 
Whom  thou  dost  choose  must  learn  somewhat  of  me. 

Nin.    Ay,  you  '11  nob  heads  together ! 

Sem.  Sir  ? 

Nin.  Well,  well  — 

I'll  choose  a  man! 


SEMIRAMIS  35 

(Exit  moodily,  right  centre) 

Sem.  Strange.  .  .  but  he  is  the  king ! 

.  .  .  Ah,  Khosrove !    Artavan !  .  .  .  Nay,  I  will  think 
Of  nothing  but  my  duty  to  the  crown !  .  .  . 
.  .  .  "And  with  a  father  and  a  brother  lost — " 

(Enter  Sola,  left,  front.     She  sees  that  Semiramis  is 
alone  and  advances) 

Sem.    "Though  thou  wert  worshipped,  thou  couldst 
not  be  happy ! " 

Sol.    Tell  me !    When  does  he  come  ? 

Sem.  Who,  child  ? 

Sol.  You  ask  ? 

My  husband — Artavan ! 

Sem.  He  will  not  come. 

Sol.    Art  thou  not  queen  ? 

Sem.  And  Ninus  king. 

Sol.    He  will  not  save  thy  brother  ? 

Sem.  Nay,  he  can  not. 

Sol.    O  monster  king ! 

Sem.  Hush,  Sola.  .  .  he  forgave 

My  father. 

Sol.    Oh !  — because  he  knew  him  dead ! 

Sem.    He  knew  him  dead ! 

Sol.  Ah,  I  will  tell  you  now ! 

(Looks  about  guardedly,  and  speaks  in  a  low  tone) 
I  saw  your  father  die — and  Ninus  saw  him ! 
Dokahra  waked  me  —  and  unseen  we  watched ! 
The  king  came  to  the  tent  —  discovered  all  — 
Doomed  him  to  death — you  to  dishonor !    Then 
Your  father  rose  to  strike  him — and  fell  dead. 
The  king— 

Sem.  Go !    Leave  me,  Sola !    Leave  me !    Go ! 

(Exit  Sola,  left,  near  front) 

Sem.     (Stands  in  silent  horror,  then  speaks  slowly) 
.  .  I  '11  keep  my  oath.  .  .  and  crown.    Still  will  I  make 


36  SBMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Assyria  great.    Assyria  is  the  army, 

And  I  ...  am  queen  of  arms.  .  .  not  love !    Not  love ! 

(Re-enter  Nintts) 

Setn.     (Softly,  not  seeing  Ninas) 
"  Dost  know  what  love  is,  daughter  of  Menones  ?  " 

Nin.     (Advancing)     My  bride ! 

Sem.       (Turning  to  him)      My    lord,   I    would    see 

Sumbat.    Pray 
Let  him  be  summoned. 

Nin.  Nay,  we  've  sworn  this  day 

Shall  be  for  us  alone ! 

Sem.  'T  was  he  I  charged 

With  care  of  the  Armenian  prince. 

Nin.  My  queen 

Shall  not  be  troubled. 

Sem.  'T  will  not  trouble  me, 

My  lord. 

Nin.        Enough  it  troubles  me ! 

Sem.  He'd  know 

Of  this  foul  fault,  against  your  will — 

Nin.  Again 

That  theme !    Forget  it ! 

Sem.  O,  my  lord,  forget 

That  noble  prince  ?    So  brave — so  proud — so  fair — 

Nin.    What  do  you  say  ?    O,  you  changed  eyes  with 
him! 

Sem.    My  lord ! 

Nin.  This  is  your  grief!    Your  brother !    Ha ! 

Sem.    Your  majesty — 

Mn.  Not  majesty !    Fool !    Fool ! 

Ho,  there !  Bring  in  the  Armenian !  You  shall  see 
This  noble  prince !  So  brave  —  so  proud  —  so  fair ! 
Her  brother !  O,  fool,  fool,  fool ! 

Sem.  This  the  king  ? 

Nin.    Why,  I '  m  a  fool,  my  lady ! 


SEMIRAMIS  37 

(Guards  enter  right  front  with  a  half  lifeless  body) 

Look  on  him ! 

He '  s  had  some  kisses  since  you  saw  him  last 
That  struck  full  deep ! 

Sem.     (Staggering  back)     Is  that  — 

MB.  Ay,  it  is  he ! 

Look  on  him !     "Tis  your  Khosrove !    Your — 

Sem.     (Majestically)  Peace,  Ninus ! 

When  you  have  knelt  to  me  I  '11  hear  you  speak ! 

(Exit  left  centre) 

Nin.     (Stares  after  her  and  becomes  calm) 
Now  I  have  ruined  all.    She  '11  not  forgive ! 

(Enter  Vassin,  left,  rear) 

Vas.    My  lord,  the  brother  of  the  queen  has  come. 

Nin.    Not  Artavan  ? 

Vas.  Ay,  Artavan. 

Nin.  He 's  here  ? 

Fas.     When  Husak  had  your  oath  you  'dfree  his  son, 
Prince  Khosrove,  Artavan  was  sent  at  once 
To  Nineveh. 

Nin.  How  could  he  pass 

The  gates  ? 

Fas.    He  passed  before  your  order  fell. 

Nin.    We'll  welcome  him. 

(Looks  toward  the  queen's  room) 

I  '11  make  my  peace  with  this. 

(Goes  out  with  Vassin,  left,  rear.  Semiramis  enters 
hesitatingly,  sees  that  Ninus  is  gone  and  advances 
fearfully  toward  the  figure  on  the  Boor.  The  guards 
stand  back,  right  front.  She  retreats,  covering  her  eyes  ; 
then  approaches  and  bends  over  the  body.  Searches 
his  face,  and  throws  up  her  hands  in  sudden  joy) 

Sem.    Not  Khosrove !    O,  it  is  not  Khosrove ! 

(Leaves  him  and  hurries  to  exit,  trying  to  suppress 
her  emotion.  Returns  to  the  body) 


38  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Where  is  the  prince  ?  Poor  wretch !  Can  you  not  speak  ? 
.  .  .  Are  these  thy  ways,  ambition  ? 

Voice  -without.  Way !    Make  way ! 

(Semiramis  hurries  to  her  room.  Enter  the  king,  left 
rear,  walking  with  Khosrove,  and  followed  by  Vassinand 
Sumbat) 

Nin.    Speak  not  of  going,  Artavan ! 

Khos.  I  must, 

0  king !    I  pray  your  leave  to  go  at  once 
To  Gazim.    Sudden  troubles  urge  me  there. 

1  beg  your  kingly  warrant  I  may  pass 
The  gates  — 

Nin.    Nay,  you  shall  stay !    We  shall  persuade  you ! 

(To  attendant)    Summon  the  queen.  Her  voice  we'll 
add  to  ours. 

Khos.    My  lord  - 

Nin.  We  like  you,  Artavan !    By  Bel, 

We  do !    You  're  worthy  of  your  sister  queen ! 
No  more — you '11  stay!  ....  See!     This  is  Khosrove! 

(Bends  over  body  on  the  floor)     Is  — 

Or  was?  .  .  .  Relives.  .  .  Think  you  these  bones  will  hold 
Until  they  reach  old  Husak  ?    Now  you  've  come, 
We  must  keep  faith !    Ha !  ha ! 

Khos.  And  that  — is  Khosrove? 

Nin.    Truth,  'tis !  .  .  .  .  Bear  out  the  dog! 

(Guards  bear  off  body,  right  front.  Enter  Semiram- 
is. Sumbat  crosses  to  her) 

Sem.    My  brother?    Where? 

Khos.  Here !     (Advancing  to  her) 

Sum.     (To  Semiramis)        Be  not  amazed 
And  Artavan  is  safe ! 

Ma.  This  welcome  's  cold 

Methinks.    We  gave  him  warmer  greeting. 

Sem.  Sir, 

Such  sudden  joy  —  My  brother  knows  there's  none 


SEMIRAMIS  39 

I  hold  more  dear. 

Nio.  How  now  ?    Not  one  ? 

Sem.     (Dropping  her  eyes  from  Khosrove)     Yes — 

one  — 
Perhaps. 

Nin.     (Pleased,  taking  her  hand)    We  are  forgiven  ? 

Sem.  Indeed,  my  lord. 

Nin.    And  for  your  brother,  hear  our  royal  word. 
We  make  him  governor  of  Nineveh ! 

Sem.     (In  alarm)    No !  no ! 

Nin.  'Tis  done !    Go,  Vassin,  bring  the  keys ! 

(Exit  Vassin,  right  front) 
And  wear  this  ring,  my  general ! 

Khos.  My  lord, 

I  could  not  undertake  — 

Mn.  You  shall !  —  The  queen 

Will  charge  you  with  all  duties. 

Sem.  No !    I  will  not ! 

Mn.    Ay,  ay !    We  know  we  please  you  'gainst  your 

word 
And  not  your  will. 

Sem.  He  is  too  young,  my  lord ! 

Nin.    Menones  was  too  old.    And  'twas  yourself 
Who  taught  us  how  to  prize  your  brother. 

(Re-enter  Vassin  with  a  chain  of  great  keys,  which 
the  king  takes)  Come ! 

(Throws  chains  about  Khosrove's  neck,  and  singles 
out  the  keys) 

The  citadel !    The  southern  arsenal ! 
The  northern  wall — the  secret  passages  — 
And  these  the  tunnel  locks  and  river  gates ! 
You  '11  take  command  at  once,  and  so  relieve 
The  city  which  we '  ve  shut  fast  as  a  tomb, 
Fearing  that  spies  from  Husak's  camp  might  creep 
Into  our  bosom. 


40  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Khos.  Wisely  done,  my  lord. 

Sem.    O  king,  if  't  must  be  so,  I  '11  map  for  him 
My  father's  safe  division  of  the  city. 

Mo.    To  you  we  leave  him. 

(Talks  apart  with  Vassin  and  Sumbat) 

Sem.  Sir,  what  do  you  mean  ? 

Khos.      (Hurriedly)     When    Vassin    came  to    take 

me  into  charge, 
Sumbat  contrived  another  should  be  sent  — 

Sem.     We  know  the  rest !    But  how  save  Artavan  ? 

Khos.    When  I  have  entered  Husak's  camp  he's  free! 
You  trust  me  ? 

Sem.  O,  I  must!    I  do!    But  not 

To  save  my  brother  may  I  trust  to  you 
The  city's  keys !    You  are  Assyria's  foe  — 

Khos.        Not  now !   No  more  a  foe,  but  truest  friend! 
For  in  my  heart  you  are  Assyria, 
And  you  I  'd  serve  — 

Nin.  Cut  short  thy  schooling,  for 

The  city  waits. 

Sem.     (Aloud,  mapping  in  her  hand)     The  river  here 

divides 
The  eastern  guard — (lowers  her  voice)     I  must  not  do 

this!    No! 
Risk  every  soul  in  Nineveh  — 

Khos.  Did  I 

Not  trust  thee  when  I  entered  here  ?      I  knew 
The  face  that  shone  upon  me  in  the  battle 
Would  not  betray  me !    Who  gives  perfect  trust 
Is  worthy  of  it !    Thou  dost  know  me  true 
By  Heaven's  sign  that  only  souls  may  read ! 
I  can  not  say  what  I  would  say  because 
Thou  art  a  wife,  but  wert  thou  not  a  wife, 
Though  thou  wert  thousand  times  a  queen,  I  'd  pour 
Such  worship  to  your  ears  you  would  believe 


SEMIRAMIS  41 

My  heart  would  rend  my  body's  walls  and  leap 

Out  of  my  bosom  sooner  than  beat  once 

A  traitor  to  your  trust !    Take  Ninus'  ring ! 

Give  me  this  little  one — (slipping  a  ring  from  her  finger) 

that  hath  enclosed 

The  sovereign  rose  and  ruby  of  thy  veins 
That  dims  his  purple  power — and  thee  I  serve — 
Your  general — uot  his !    Whate'er  you  would 
I  will!    Command  me  now  — 

Sem.  Enough !    Go,  go ! 

Lose  no  more  time ! 

Khos.  O,  in  some  dream  to  come, 

When  innocence  may  wear  what  form  it  will 
And  on  thy  waking  nature  leave  no  blush, 
May  words  I  must  not  speak  take  life  and  pay 
The  debt  they  owe  this  hour! 

Sem.  I  beg  you  go ! 

Assyria's  in  your  hands ! 

Khos.  Nay,  in  my  heart ! 

Nin.    Come,  Artavan !  No  more  delay !   Your  troops 
Await  before  the  citadel. 

Khos.  I  go, 

My  lord. 

(Confusion  without,  left  rear.    Enter  an  officer) 

Off.    Pardon,  your  majesty !    A  man 
Who  says  he's  brother  to  the  queen,  makes  bold 
To  press  before  you ! 

Nin.  Yet  another  brother  ? 

Sem.    No,  no,  my  lord ! 

Off.  He  comes  from  Husak's  camp. 

Sem.    It  is  some  madman  surely,  or  a  spy 
Who  plays  his  wits  are  lost  and  takes  this  way 
To  force  into  the  court ! 

Khos.  I  '11  thrust  him  out ! 

He  may  mean  danger  to  your  person. 


42  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER   PLAYS 

Nin.  Nay, 

We  '11  sport  with  him.    Let  him  come  in ! 

(Exit  officer) 

Sem.  My  lord  — 

Nin.    Your  brother !    Ho,  ho,  ho ! 

(Enter  Artavan) 

Art.  My  sister ! 

Sem.     (Staring)  Sir  ? 

Art.    Though  queen,  art  thou  not  still  my  sister  ? 

Sem.  No ! 

Art.       (Bowing    with  .  scornful    ceremony)       Your 
majesty ! 

Nin.  Ha!  ha!    His  sister!    Then 

Thou  wouldst  be  brother  to  the  king  ? 

Art.     (Bitterly)  My  hope 

Runs  not  so  high,  and  even  to  her  I  now 
Give  up  all  claim.    I  '11  own  no  blood  but  that 
In  my  own  veins  keeps  honor!    So  farewell ! 

Nin.    Be  not  so  fast!   Whence  comest  thou,  my  man? 

Art.    From  Husak's  camp.     When  he  received  thy 

word 
His  son  should  go  to  him,  he  set  me  free. 

Sem.    Oh,  set  you  free ! 

Art.  And  now,  O  king — 

Sem.     (Seeing  that  the  king  is  impressed)     My  lord, 
If  he  came  from  the  camp  how  has  he  passed 
The  city  gates  ? 

Nin.  Ah.  .  true.  .  .  he  could  not  pass. 

Sem.     (Mockingly)     Perhaps  he  scaled  the  hundred 

feet  of  wall, 

And  crossed  the  rampart  'neath  the  arrow  watch 
Of  towers  eighty-score ! 

Art.  I  found  a  way, 

Proud  woman ! 

Nin.  How  ? 


SEMIRAMIS  43 

(As  Artavan  speaks  Sola  enters  left  front,  and  is  held 
aside  by  Sumbat) 

Art.  This  morning  ere  the  battle 

She  who  was  then  my  sister  gave  me  this. 

(Shows  paper) 

'Twas  some  direction  sent  unto  my  father, 
The  lord  Menones.    (Turning paper)   On  this  side  I  found 
A  map  whose  secret  key  I  knew,  that  marked 
A  passage  'neath  the  river.    This  I  sought, 
Found  it  unguarded  — 

Nin.  By  the  seven  winds !  — 

(Enter  an  officer) 

Off.    Oking! 

Nin.  You're  of  the  northern  watch ? 

Off.  I  am, 

O  king !    The  Armenians  advance  upon 
The  northern  wall,  but  come  with  lances  down ! 

Art.    They  come  in  peace  to  meet  the  son  of  Husak ! 

Sem.    O,  haste,  my  lord !     Haste,  Artavan,  to  duty ! 
Their  rage  when  they  shall  learn  the  fate  of  Khosrove 
May  give  them  courage  to  assail  our  walls ! 
Go,  brother ! 

Nin.  Hold !    This  man  speaks  not  as  madmen ! 

Sem.    Should  I  not  know  my  brother,  sir  ? 

Nin.  You  should. 

Choose  which  is  he.    The  other  we  condemn 
To  death. 

Art.     (Holding  out  his  arms)     Save  me,  Semiramis ! 

Khos.     (Holding  out  his  arms)    Save  me, 
My  sister ! 

Sem.     (Going  to  Khosrove1  s  arms)     Brother ! 

Nin.     (To  Khosrove)  Haste  thee  to  thy  office ! 

Vassin,  attend  him !    Sumbat,  be  his  chief! 
We  trust  where  trusts  the  queen ! 

Sem.     (To  Khosrove)  Give  up  the  keys 


44  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

To  Sumbat ! 

(Exeunt  Khosrove,  Vassin,  Sumbat,  left  rear) 

Nin.     (ToArtavari)   You  to  death!    (Signs  to  guards) 

Sem.  My  royal  lord, 

First  would  I  question  him  alone,  and  learn 
The  truth  about  this  passage.    He  may  be 
In  league  with  traitors  subtler  than  himself. 
One  moment,  sir,  I  pray. 

Nin.  O,  ever  wise ! 

Bribe  him  with  any  promise  death  may  keep 
To  tell  you  all.    But  do  not  linger,  love ; 
We  lose  our  bridal  day !     (Exit,  right  centre.    Semiramis 
looks   at   Artavan  with   the  greatest   tenderness.     He 
gazes  coldly  upon  her,  Sola  clinging  to  him) 

Art.  What  would  the  queen  ? 

Sem.    To  be  again  thy  sister.    Dost  not  guess  ? 
That  man— 

Art.  Who  can  he  be  you  prize  above 

Your  honor  and  my  life  ? 

Sem.  The  son  of  him 

Who  set  you  free  on  Ninus'  oath,  an  oath 
Broke  in  the  heart  ere  it  had  left  the  lips ! 

Art.    My  brave  Semiramis !  You've  saved  the  prince, 
And  with  his  life  my  honor !    O,  pardon  me ! 

Sem.    He  was  escaping  in  your  name  when  you 
Arrived  too  soon — 

Art.  Forgive  me  that ! 

Sem.  And  now 

To  save  my  brother ! 

Art.  Hope  it  not.     Be  glad 

That  one  is  safe.    Had  Khosrove  lost  his  life 
In  Ninus'  court,  my  oath  had  driven  me  back 
To  Husak — and  to  death.    No  power  then 
Had  saved  me.    Now  — 

Sem.  Now  thou  shall  live ! 


SEMIRAMIS  45 

Art.  Nay,  see ! 

His  guards  watch  well !    There  is  no  way.   - 

Sem.  No  way 

But  through  the  will  of  Ninus.    He  shall  save  thee ! 

Art.       O,  for  your  own  dear  life,  Semiramis, 
Let  Ninus  know  not  I  am  Artavan ! 

Sem.    He  dare  not  touch  me,  for  the  army's  mine ! 
(Goes  into  Ninus'  chamber) 
Sol.    My  love ! 

Art.  Tis  welcome  and  farewell,  my  Sola ! 

Sol.    O,  she  will  save  thee ! 

Art.  Teach  me  not  to  hope. 

(A  band  of  dancing  maidens  enter,  left,  and  sing-  a 
bridal  chorus  before  the  doors  of  Ninus'  chamber) 
Love  and  Beauty  now  are  one, 

No  more  wandering  away ! 
Love 's  the  sky  to  Beauty's  sun, 
From  him  she  can  not  stray, 
And  he  is  bright  by  her  fair  light  or  none ! 

Love  and  Beauty  dreaming  lie, 
Who  shall  say  it  is  not  meet  ? 
Who  shall  say,  O  fie,  O  fie, 

To  the  favor  sweet 

That  Love  will  ask  and  Beauty  not  deny  ? 
(Maidens  dance  out,  right.    Re-enter  Semiramis) 
Sem.     He 's  wild  with  rage !    I  can  not  calm  him ! 
Sol.  Oh, 

To  lose  thee  now ! 

(Enter  Ninus.    He  advances  upon  Semiramis) 
Nin.    Who  is  he,  then  —  that  man — 
If  not  thy  brother  ?    To  whose  arms  you  went 
As  you  have  never  come  to  mine  ? 

Sem,  A  man 

Whose  life  you  owed  to  me  by  holiest  promise 


46  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

And  oath  unto  the  gods !    I  saved  your  soul 
When  I  so  saved — 

Nin.  Speak!    Who? 

Sem.  The  son  of  Husak, 

Prince  Khosrove,  of  Armenia ! 

(Utter  silence.   Ninus  stands  choked  and  dumb  ;  then 
moves  to  strike  Semiramis) 

Sem.  Strike  me 

You  strike  your  army ! 

(Ninus  drops  his  hand  and  stares  at  her,  livid  and 
shaken,  then  turns  fiercely  upon  Artavan) 

Sem.      (Rushes  before  him  and  falls,  clinging  to  his 
knees)     Wait,  O  wait,  my  lord ! 
If  thou  dost  hope  to  know  my  love !    Dost  dream 
Of  bridal  joy !    Wouldst  rest  thy  head  in  peace 
Upon  my  bosom,  say  thou  wilt  forgive ! 
And  I,  too,  will  forgive !    No  more  will  ask 
What  thou  hast  done  or  not  done !    All  thy  past 
Is  fair  as  Heaven  by  this  moment's  sun ! 
I  '11  love  thee  as  thou  hadst  been  born  this  hour 
That  gives  my  brother  life !    O,  speak  the  word, 
And  take  me  to  thy  heart— thy  wife— thy  slave  — 

Nin.    By  earth  and  heaven,  he  shall  die  —  and  now! 

(Raises  his  dagger  to  strike.    Enter  Vassin) 

Vas.     (Excitedly)      My    lord,  this  is  the  strangest 

governor ! 

He  ordered  me  with  Sumbat  to  lead  out 
The  city  troops  beyond  the  southern  gate, 
Then  spurred  to  north !    Sumbat  obeyed,  but  I, 
Not  liking  this,  returned  to  you ! 

Nin.  'Tis  Khosrove ! 

Fas.     (Staggered)    Then  we  are  lost ! 

Nin.  Pursue  him!    Fly!    Callback 

Our  troops ! 

Vas.    Too  late !    By  now  they  're  locked  without 


SEMIRAMIS  47 

The  southern  wall,  and  Khosrove  rides  to  ope 
The  north  to  Husak ! 

Sem.     (Aside)    False!    Down,  slanderous  thought 
That  darkens  me  not  him  !    That  face  that  looked 
As  Truth  had  chosen  it  to  show  her  own 
To  man!    That  voice— each  word  the  enchanted  door 
To  holier  worlds  unspoken !    No,  I  '11  trust ! 

(Enter  an  officer) 

Off.    O,  great  Assyria,  the  Armenians  come ! 
The  Gazim  traitor's  sold  thee  unto  Husak ! 
Thy  foes  are  pouring  through  the  northern  gate 
And  bear  down  on  the  palace !    Sumbat  holds 
Thy  troops  upon  the  southern  plain,  and  bars 
All  passage !    There 's  no  help ! 

(Ninus  listens  speechless) 

Attendants.     (Running-  in)     O,  we  are  lost! 

Off.    The  city  will  be  sacked !    The  palace  guards 
Are  but  a  handful ! 

Sem.  False  ?    O,  Khosrove !    False  ? 

Then  there  is  no  man  true  ?    E'en  Sumbat  lost 
To  thy  sweet  promises !    False !  false ! 

(Enter  a  second  officer) 

Off.     (Prostrating himself )     O,  Ninus! 
Call  on  thy  gods !    Thy  enemies  are  at  thee ! 
The  palace  is  enclosed,  and  every  foe 
Bears  in  his  hand  a  torch  that  blazes  death 
To  all  within ! 

(The  inmates  of  the  palace  are  running  to  and  fro, 
rear,  and  looking  fearfully  out  into  the  court  below) 

Sem.  O  beauteous  gods,  is  this 

Your  earth  ?  Where  Falsehood  steals  your  garments,  nay 
Your  smile,  seduces  with  your  voice,  and  stamps 
Your  semblance  upon  fiends  ? 

Voices.          Save  us,  O  king !     (Ninus  stands  immov- 
able, as  if  made  deaf  and  dumb  by  impending-  disaster) 


48  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Voice.    We  burn !    They  cast  the  brands ! 

Another.  Not  yet !    They  wait ! 

Voices  of  prostrate  figures.    Save  us,  O  king! 

Voice.    See !  see !    The  leader  speaks! 

Another.  His  herald !  Hear ! 

(A  trumpet  sounds  below) 

Voice  of  Khosrove' s  herald.    Assyria,  come  forth ! 

(All  within  listen,  silent,  eager,  fearful) 
Hear  thou,  O  Ninus !    Hear  the  word  of  Khosrove ! 
He  will  depart  with  the  Armenian  troops, 
And  leave  the  city  free  of  sword  and  fire, 
If  thou 'It  decree  that  Artavan  shall  live 
Free  and  unharmed ! 

(The  face  of  Semiramis  illumines  with  joy) 

Deny  and  Nineveh 
Shall  flame! 

Nin.    My  herald  there !    Stand  forth! 

(The  herald  of  Ninus  takes  station  centre  rear) 

Decree 
As  Khosrove  wills ! 

Her.  of  Khos.    Appear,  O  Ninus ! 

Nin.  No ! 

Her.  of  Khos.    Appear,  O  Ninus  ! 

(Ninus  goes  slowly  to  rear  and  stands  by  his  herald) 

Her.  of  Khos.  Hear,  all  Nineveh ! 

Hear  the  decree  of  Ninus,  king  and  god ! 
That  Artavan,  the  brother  of  the  queen, 
Shall  freely  live,  and  die  by  no  man's  hand ! 

Her.  of  Ninus.     (Blows  trumpet,  then  speaks) 
Hear  the  decree  of  Ninus,  king  and  god, 
That  Artavan,  the  brother  of  the  queen, 
Shall  freely  live,  and  die  by  no  man's  hand ! 

(Silence.    The  voice  of  Khosrove  below) 

Khos.    Assyria,  speak ! 

Nin.  I,  Ninus,  so  decree ! 


SEMIRAMIS  49 

(Staggers  back  toward  front  as  all  press  to  rear  to 
see  the  troops  go  out.  Semiramis,  Artavan  and  Sola 
stand  together  gazing  out) 

Sem.    O,  Khosrove!    See — he  rides  —  away — awayt 

(Leans  forward  waving  her  scarf.  Ninus,  alone  in 
front,  goes  toward  his  chamber,  falls  on  the  steps  over- 
powered with  rage  and  lifts  his  clenched  hands) 

Nin.    O,  vengeance !    Vengeance  for  a  king ! 

(CURTAIN) 


ACT  III. 


Scene :  The  gardens  over  the  lake.  A  wide  bridge 
extends  from  the  bank  of  the  lake,  left,  to  the  gardens 
which  arc  partly  visible  on  the  right.  At  the  rear,  right, 
is  a  garlanded  archway.  At  the  left,  front,  steps  lead 
from  the  water  to  the  bank  and  top  of  the  bridge.  Be- 
yond the  bridge,  rear,  clouds  show  that  the  sun  is  set- 
ting. 

A  score  of  spearmen,  with  lances  down,  march  in, 
right,  front,  and  out  through  archway,  right,  rear. 

Enter,  right,  front,  the  king  and  Sumhat.  The  king 
is  royally  clad  and  crowned ;  Sumbat  in  official  robe. 

Sumbat.    Khosrove  delays. 

Mn.  But  do  not  doubt  he  '11  come. 

I  have  his  word,  and  couriers  have  seen 
His  horsemen  on  the  plain. 

Sum.  How  noble,  sir, 

To  close  the  Feast  of  Peace  with  supreme  revel 


50  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

In  honor  of  your  foe ! 

Nin.  Not  foe,  good  Sumbat. 

We  have  no  foes.    Our  queen's  triumphant  arms 
Have  made  glad  subjects  of  all  enemies 
But  one,  and  him  we  make  our  friend.    To-night 
Assyria  and  Armenia  sup  as  one ! 

(Tarns  toward  right,  rear) 
We  '11  see  if  all 's  prepared  as  we  gave  order. 

(Exeunt  under  the  arch  of  garlands.  Dancers  enter, 
right,  front,  and  pass  out  through  arch.  Following 
them,  Semiramis  with  her  women.  All  are  in  rich  attire 
but  the  queen  who  wears  simple  white  robe.  A  dove 
nestles  on  her  bosom.  She  gives  the  women  leave  to  pass 
on  and  they  go  out  merrily  through  arch,  right,  rear. 
Semiramis  lingers;  comes  to  the  railing  of  the  bridge, 
centre,  and  leans  upon  it) 

Sem.    Will  Khosrove  come?     I  do  not  doubt  the 

king,— 
And  yet — I  pray  he  will  not  come ! 

(Re-enter  Sumbat,  through  arch.  He  comes  out  to 
the  queen) 

Sem.  You,  Sumbat  ? 

Where  is  the  king  ? 

Sum.  I  left  him  in  the  garden, 

Giving  new  orders  for  Prince  Khosrove's  honor. 

Sem.    Sumbat,  you  trust  the  king  ? 

Sum.  I  do.    You've  wrought 

Such  noble  change  in  him  that  drop  by  drop 
He 's  mated  all  his  blood  unto  your  virtues. 

Sem.    I  must  believe  it,  lest  a  doubt  should  breed 
The  weakness  it  suspects.    But  is 't  not  strange 
Khosrove  should  trust  him  too  ? 

Sum.  He  knows  that  you 

Would  warn  him  if  there  lay  a  danger  here. 

Sem.    I  warn  him  ?    But  suppose  the  warning  false  ? 


SEMIRAMIS  51 

'T  would  wrong  the  king,  whose  purpose  seems  so  pure 
It  might  have  journeyed  with  his  soul  when  first 
It  came  from  Heaven !    No.    I  '11  answer  for  him ! 
He  could  not  counterfeit  so  deep  my  eyes 
Would  find  no  bottom  to  deceit !  .  .  .  But  now 
What  hast  thou  heard  of  Artavan  ? 

Sum.  No  word. 

Sem.    I  fear — 

Sum.  He's  safe.    Be  sure  of  that.  No  man 

Would  dare  lay  finger  on  him ! 

Sem.  But  to  go 

Without  a  word !    Poor  Sola  grieves,  and  weeps 
As  though  she'd  drown  her  wits  in  tears. 

(A  boat  glides  from   under  the  bridge  and  over  the 
water  beneath  them) 

See  there ! 
'Tisshe!    Alone  below! 

(Sola  alights  from  boat  and  runs  up  steps  to  the 
bridge)  I  '11  speak  to  her. 

Go,  Su  mbat !     (Sumbat  goes  off  right) 

Sister,  stay. 
(Stops  Sola  as  she  is  passing) 

Why  do  you  run  ? 

Sol.    I'm  running  from  the  king ! 

Sem.  The  king,  my  love  ? 

There 's  no  king  here. 

Sol.  Nay,  he 's  below ! 

Sem.  Below  ? 

Sol.    Under  the  bridge  with  Vassin ! 

Sem.  Vassin  ?    No. 

The  king  has  sent  him  out  of  Nineveh ! 

Sol.    He  did  not  go.    I  swear  that  he 's  below ! 

Sem.    What  were  you  doing  'neath  the  bridge  ? 

Sol.  Ah  me, 

I  seek  in  every  place  for  Artavan. 


52  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

I  '11  save  him  from  the  king ! 

Setn.  So  kind  a  king  ? 

Sol.    O,  kind !    As  death,  or  plague,  or  leprosy ! 
'Tis  he  has  taken  revenge  on  Artavan ! 
He  '11  kill  the  prince,  too,  when  he  comes ! 

Sem.  My  child— 

Sol.     (Pointing  down)    I  heard  them  talking  there ! 

Sem.  Thy  husband 's  safe. 

Bethink  thee  that  the  king's  decree  protects  him. 

Sol.    Not  from  the  king!    From  man,  not  from  the 

gods, 
And  Ninus  is  a  god,  or  dreams  he  is ! 

Sem.    From  man — not  from — no,  no !  I  will  not  say 
Or  think  it !    My  poor  child— 

Sol.  You  '11  save  the  prince  ? 

'Tis  you  he  trusts,  not  Ninus ! 

Sem.  Sweet,  be  calm. 

You  did  not  see  the  king. 

Sol.  Hear  all,  and  save  him ! 

When  Khosrove  takes  the  seat  of  highest  honor, 
Lord  of  the  Revels  by  Assyria's  favor, 
The  floor  will  part,  the  chair  fall  to  the  lake, 
Where  Vassin  waits  to  slay  him,  while  the  king 
Strikes  down  in  wrath  the  master  of  the  feast 
For  fault  of  accident! 

Sem.  Where  are  your  wits  ? 

See,  yonder  comes  the  king! 

(Re-enter  Ninas  through  archway) 

Sem.     (As  he  approaches)    Is  all  prepared, 
My  lord  ? 

Sol.     (To  Semiramis)     'Tis  true— true— true! 

(Runs  off,  right) 

Nin.  Ay,  all  is  ready 

Except  the  queen.    What  means  these  simple  robes, 
Semiramis  ? 


SEMIRAMIS  53 

Sem.  A  compliment  unto 

Your  majesty. 

Nin.  It  shows  more  like  affront ! 

I  would  have  Khosrove  see  a  splendor  here 
Unpainted  in  the  daring  of  his  dream, 
And  thou  the  star  of  it!    A  merchant's  daughter 
Would  robe  her  handmaid  with  more  care — lend  her 
A  pearl  or  two  —  a  bit  of  scarf —  or  scrap 
Of  tinsel  sun  — 

Sem.  My  lord — 

Nin.  A  compliment ! 

'Tis  your  disdain  — 

Sem.  It  grieves  me,  sir,  that  you 

Should  read  in  outward  sign  what  never  yet 
Was  in  my  soul.    Our  wars  are  done,  my  lord ; 
And  exultation  of  the  conquering  hour 
Calms  into  peace ;  as  I  laid  armor  by 
For  victor  robes  and  symbol  of  my  glory, 
I  now  cast  off  the  purple  of  the  queen, 
And  but  remember  that  I  am  a  wife. 

Nin.     (Embracing-  her)    Beloved  Semiramis  !   Forgive 

thy  slave ! 

No  royal  dye  could  shine  so  to  my  eyes 
As  this  soft  white  put  on  for  me  alone ! 
Thy  pardon,  love,  and  thou  shalt  shortly  learn 
A  king,  too,  knows  how  best  to  compliment ! 
An  honor  waits  for  thee  — 

(Enter  officer,  left) 

Off.  O  king! 

Nin.  We  hear ! 

Off.    The  Armenian  approaches. 

Mn.  Khosrove  comes  ? 

(Semiramis  watches  the  king  closely) 

Off.    He  comes,  great  Ninus ! 

Mo.  Well,  and  more  than  well ! 


54  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Summon  our  train.    (Exit  officer,  right)    But  one  is  lack- 
ing here, 
Our  brother  —  Artavan. 

Sem.  My  lord — you  think  — 

Nin.    Who  would  dare  harm  him  ?    He  is  safe. 

Sem.     (Coming  very  near  him)     From  man, 
Not  from  the  gods. 

Nin.     (Stepping  back)     What  do  you  mean  ? 

Sem.  The  truth! 

Nin.     (Seizing  her  arm)     It  is  not  so !    I  do  deny  it ! 

Sem.     (Calmly)  What, 

My  lord  ? 

Nin.    What  meant  you  when  you  said  '  the  truth ' ! 

Sem.    That  gods  may  work  some  harm  to  Artavan. 

Nin.     (At  ease)   True,  love !    Uncertain  is  their  favor. 

Look! 
He  comes !     (Gazing  off,  left) 

Sem.     (Aside)    He 's  false !    And  if  he 's  false  in  this  — 

then  is  — 

O,  Khosrove,  thou  art  lured  to  death !    And  I 
Have  been  thy  traitorous  star ! 

(Enter  Khosrove,  left,  attended  by  Armenians) 

Nin.       Hail,  Khosrove !    Hail ! 

Assyrians.  Hail  to  Armenia!    Hail! 

Khos.  O,  Ninus,  hail ! 

Armenians.    Hail  to  Assyria,  greatest  over  kings ! 

Nin.    Thou'rt  welcome,  and  we  thank  thee  for  thy 

trust, 

Which  we'll  betray  when  Heaven  has  no  god 
To  damn  our  treachery !    In  proof  of  faith, 
Wear  thou  the  royal  dagger  with  thy  own. 

(Detaches  his  weapon,  which  he  gives  to  Khosrove) 
Our  queen — has  she  no  word  ? 

(Khosrove  bows  low  before  Semiramis) 

Sem.  Peace  and  long  life 


SEMIRAMIS  55 

To  Khosrove. 

Nin.  Now  to  revel !    Sound  the  trumpets ! 

(Exeunt  officers  through  archway.  Trumpets  sound 
from  the  gardens.  Dancing  maidens  in  white  robes,  each 
with  a  dove  resting  on  her  hand,  enter  right  front,  reach 
the  centre  of  the  stage,  and  begin  the  dance  of  doves.  As 
the  maidens  describe  circles  in  the  dance  the  doves  rise 
and  fly  in  similar  circles  above  their  heads,  and  re-alight 
on  their  extended  hands) 

Sem.     (Who  has  stood  aside  during  the  dance,  ap- 
parently disturbed) 
It  is  not  true !    Were  any  man  so  vile 
Nature  would  spurn  him  back  to  chaos  ere 
His  mother  had  beheld  him ! 

(The  dance  ends.  The  maidens  pass  out  under  arch. 
All  move  to  follow  when  Ninus  speaks) 

Nin.  Stay!    Hear,  all! 

Before  we  feast  in  honor  of  our  guest, 
We  would  do  honor  to  our  noble  queen, 
Whose  arms  of  might  have  brought  our  land  to  peace, 
Whose  looks  of  love  have  brought  our  heart  to  rest ! 
To-night  we  doff  our  crown  that  she  may  wear  it ! 

(Removing  crown) 

And  here  decree  her  word  shall  be  obeyed 
Above  our  own. 

(Puts  crown  on  the  queen's  head) 

Dost  like  our  compliment  ? 

Sem.    It  is  too  much,  my  king. 

Nin.     (Kneeling)  Nay,  nay,  thy  subject ! 

(Semiramis  seems  gay  with  a  sudden  resolve) 

Sem.    If  it  so  please  thee  then  I  '11  be  the  king ! 

Nin.     (Rising)     We  have  decreed.     If  any  here  refuse 
To  honor  thy  command,  though  thou  shouldst  doom 
My  death,  himself  that  instant  dies.     (To  officer) 

You,  sir, 


56  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Take  order  for  it,  and  if  your  own  hand  fail, 
When  we  are  king  again  we  '11  have  your  head ! 

Off.    My  arm  be  as  your  will,  my  lord ! 

Sem.  O,  then 

I  have  a  wish  I  did  not  dare  to  voice. 

Nin.    Command  it  now. 

Sem.  It  hath  much  troubled  me 

That  Khosrove  should  be  honored  over  you, 
Lord  of  the  Revels. 

Khos.     (Astonished)     Lady  — 

Sem.  King,  if  't  please  you ! 

I  've  laid  my  purple  by,  but  I  have  still 
The  royal  color  in  my  heart.     Think'st  thou 
To  sit  above  Assyria,  who  wearest  not 
The  brave  investment  of  the  gods  ?  who  hold'st 
Thy  sceptre  still  from  warrior  chiefs,  not  from 
Anointed  kings? 

Khos.  Because  my  race  is  proud ! 

Too  proud  to  kneel  to  any  earthly  king 
And  take  the  sacred  vestment  from  his  hands ! 

Sem.    You  see,  my  lord,  that  even  in  his  heart 
He  ranks  himself  above  you ! 

Nin.  But,  my  love  — 

Khos.    Farewell!    Thou  didst  me  service  once,  and 

here 
I  thought  to  thank  thee,  but— 

Nin.  Stay,  Khosrove,  stay ! 

Khos.    Farewell,  with  all  my  heart ! 

Nin.  Nay  — 

Sem.  O,  my  lord, 

Let  him  depart.     He  mocks  our  glory,  and  bears 
A  challenge  in  his  proud  simplicity 
That  puts  our  splendor  to  defense. 

Khos.  Nay,  madam ! 

I  came  to  lay  my  duty  at  your  feet, 


SEMIRAMIS  57 

And  lift  my  eyes  no  higher  than  your  hand 
Without  your  royal  leave !    But  now  I  '11  cast 
My  gaze  upon  the  stars,  forgetting  that 
You  walk  beneath  them !    (Going) 

Nin.  Stay,  O  prince ! 

(To  Semiramis)    A  boon,  your  majesty!      'T would 

blot  our  honor 

To  send  him  from  us  thus !    We  shall  be  plunged 
Anew  in  wars,  for  Husak  will  avenge  it ! 
I  am  thy  most  unhappy  subject,  and 
Thou  'It  hear  my  prayer ! 

(Goes  after  Khosrove  and  leads  him  hack) 

You'll  stay,  O  Khosrove ? 

Khos.  Ay, 

On  one  condition. 

Nin.  Name  it ! 

Khos.  That  you  will  take 

Our  seat  at  feast. 

Nin.  Nay  — 

Sem.  That  is  our  command ! 

Nin.    No,  no ! 

Sem.  We  '11  have  it  so ! 

Nin.  I  '11  not  consent ! 

Sem.    It  is  our  royal  order !    Guards  for  Ninus ! 

Nin.    What  do  you  mean  ? 

Sem.  To  have  our  way !    Guards  here ! 

You  shall  not  do  this  wrong  to  your  high  self! 
We  '11  look  unto  your  honor !    (To  guards)  Bear  him 

in! 

(Guards  stand  in  amazement) 
Did  ye  not  hear  the  king's  decree  ?    I  reign ! 

(Guards  take  hold  of  Ninus) 

Nin.    By  Hut  and  Nim ! 

Sem.  Place  him  in  Khosrove's  seat ! 

(Guards  draw  Ninus  through  the  archway.     Khos- 


58  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

rove  follows,  then  all  but  Semiramis,  who  lingers  fear- 
fully, runs  toward  front,  then  back  and  listens) 

Sem.    'Tistrue!    What  have  I  done?    Ye  gods!  'tis 

true! 

He  would  not  so  rebel  if  't  were  not  true ! 
But  Vassin  is  below !    He  '11  know  his  king 
And  save  him ! 

(Kneels)    Belus,  mighty  Belus,  pardon ! 

The  sun  has  set,  and  red  clouds  show  almost  black 
over  water,  rear.  The  front  of  stage  is  nearly  dark. 
Lights  glimmer  from  the  gardens,  and  a  faint  torch 
shows  in  the  darkness  under  the  bridge.  Shouts  and 
shrieks  come  from  within.  People  rush  out) 

Voices.    The  king !  the  king ! 

Sem.     (Retreating  to  railing,  front)     'Tis  done! 

Officer.     (Running  across)  The  king  has  fallen 

Into  the  lake!    Lights  there!  below!    (Runs  down  steps 
leading  under  the  bridge) 

Other  officers  following.  Lights !  lights ! 

(Torches  flare  under  the  bridge.  Darkness  above  as 
the  last  light  fades  from  the  sky.  A  moment  of  noise  and 
search,  and  officers  appear  on  the  bridge,  right,  rear, 
with  Vassin.  A  guard  bears  torch  which  throws  light  on 
his  face) 

Sem.     (Confronting him)    You've  saved  the  king! 

Fas.  I  have.    For  I  have  slain 

His  foe! 

Sem.    His  foe  ?    No — you  have  killed  the  king! 

(Falls  back  into  the  arms  of  her  women.  Complete 
darkness  on  stage.  An  instant  later  moonlight.  Khos- 
rove  and  Semiramis  alone  on  the  bridge,  centre,  front) 

Khos.     (Bowing  ceremoniously)     Farewell,  Assyria ! 

Sem.  O,  not  that  name ! 

Not  yet— not  yet. 

Khos.  Does  it  not  please  your  pride  ? 


SEMIRAMIS  59 

Seai.    My  pride?    'Tis  gone.      Now  I  could  lay  my 

head 
Upon  the  dust. 

Khos.  In  truth !    But  you  '11  not  do  it ! 

Humility 's  a  word  the  great  think  sweet 
Upon  the  tongue,  but  near  the  heart  they  find 
It  loseth  flavor ! 

Sem.  Ah.  .  .  you  do  not  know  ? 

You  think  the  words  I  spoke  were  born  of  pride  ? 
So  far  from  that — no,  no  —  I  will  not  tell, 
And  yet  you  wrong  me,  prince. 

Khos.  (Eagerly)    Did  you  suspect 

Some  danger  to  me  here,  and  seek  to  force 
My  angry  leave  ?    You  did  not  care  so  much  ? 

Sem.    I  cared  so  much  that  rather  than  betray  you 
I  would  have  let  you  go  believing  me 
A  woman  worth  your  scorn.    Ah,  there  my  pride 
In  truth  did  suffer  ! 

Khos.  O,  Semiramis ! 

Thou  art  the  same  as  when  I  saw  thee  last  ? 
As  when  I  rode  away  and  left  thy  face  — 
The  only  face  in  Nineveh —nay  —  I  — 
Will  go.    Farewell,  most  noble  queen! 

Sem.  Farewell ! 

(He  lingers) 

Sem.    Why  go  in  haste  ? 

Khos.  I  left  my  father  sick. 

He  will  be  troubled  till  I  come  again. 

Sem.    How  dared  you  trust — 

Khos.  What  would  I  not  have  dared 

To  look  on  thee  again  ?  .  .  .    My  horsemen  wait.  .  . 

( Waving  toward  left) 
I  come ! 

Sem.    Farewell !  .  .  .  .  Armenia  is  my  friend  ? 
I  'm  sad.  .  .  The  manner  of  this  death.  .  .  It  weighs 


60  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Upon  me. 

Khos.    Let  it  not.    Thou 'rt  innocent. 

Sem.    O,  some  may  doubt! 

Khos.  But  who  wrongs  Virtue  puts 

A  crown  upon  her !    If  thou  hadst  foreknown 
The  accident  — 

Sew.  The  accident  ? 

Khos.  'Twas  not 

Designed  ? 

Sem.       It  was.  .  .  .  for  you. 

Khos.  By  Ninus  ? 

Sem.  Ay. 

You  were  to  die. 

Khos.  Then  you  —you  knew  —that  he  — 

(Starts  from  her  in  horror) 

Sem.    What's  in  thy  mind  ?    What  thought  doth 

paint  thy  face 
In  dreadful  silence  ?    Oh !  3'ou  think  that  I  — 

(Looks  at  him  with  equal  horror.  Removes  farther 
from  him,  regains  composure,  and  speaks  with  haughty 
coldness) 

This  serves  me  well !    Right  well,  Armenian ! 
Yes — yes  —  I  knew  —  I  knew  the  king  would  fall. 
But  knew,  too,  sir,  that  Vassin  was  below, 
And,  by  my  precious  gods,  I  did  not  dream 
He  would  not  save  his  king !     While  you  —  my  guest  — 
You  would  have  gone  to  death ! 

Khos.  Forgive  me ! 

(Semiramis  walks  farther,  not  heeding  him)    Oh, 
I  found  a  stream  that  ran  from  heavenly  springs 
And  in  it  cast  the  soot  of  hell ! 

Sem.  Well  served  - 

Well  served,  Semiramis !  .  .  .  I  was  so  sad.  .  . 
And  would  not  be  content  to  let  him  go.  . 
I  wanted  but  a  word.  .  a  word  to  cheer  me.  . 


SEMIRAMIS  61 

And  now  I  have  it  —  murderess! 

Khos.     ( Who  has  advanced  to  her)    No,  no, 
I  did  not  say  it ! 

Sem.  The  tongue  may  well  keep  silent 

When  eyes  speak  lightning.     I  have  heard  too  much  ! 
'Twere  better  I  had  let  you  die ! 

Khos.  Ay,  better.  .  . 

Better  than  this ! 

Sem.  Now,  now  I  am  Assyria  ! 

No  more  a  woman !    Softness  to  the  winds ! 
And  let  my  heart  be  as  my  armor — steel! 

Khos.    Thou  canst  not  make  it  so  by  saying  it. 
There  is  no  cold  or  heat  may  temper  hearts 
Away  from  their  true  nature.     Mail  thyself 
From  head  to  foot,  thou  'rt  still  Semiramis ! 

Sem.    A  queen ! 

(An  officer  enters,  left) 

Off.  Your  majesty,  an  urgent  hand 

Brings  this  report. 

(Gives  paper  to  her,  which  she  reads) 

Sem.  The  Ghees  are  in  revolt ! 

Thank  them  for  me !    They  could  not  show  me  favor 
More  to  my  heart ! 

(Exit  officer,  left) 

I'm  sick  of  peace  —  this  peace 

That  gives  men  time  to  brood  and  breed  foul  thoughts 
And  fouler  deeds !    Give  me  the  open  war  whose  blows 
Rain  down  as  free  as  noonbeams  from  the  sun ! 
Who  meets  me  there  I  know,  at  least,  he's  brave, 
And  there  — 

Khos.        Semiramis ! 

Sem.     (Proudly)  Armenia,  speak ! 

You  have  our  leave. 

Khos  These  Ghees  —  my  father  is 

Their  ancient,  sworn  ally ! 


62  SBMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Sem.  Well,  sir  ? 

Khos.  His  oath 

Binds  him  to  give  them  aid. 

Sem.  The  braver  then 

The  battle! 

Khos.        I  am  my  father's  son ! 

Sem.  You  mean 

We  '11  meet  upon  the  field ! 

Khos.  I  can  not  take 

The  field  against  you ! 

Sem.  No?    Why  not  ? 

Khos.  You  know! 

Because  I  love  you ! 

Sem.  Sir,  I  am  Assyria ! 

Khos.    Nay,  but  Menones'   daughter!     She  whose 

heart 
I  touched — 

Sem.         You  touched  ? 

Khos.  Ere  taint  of  pride  or  power 

Or  mad  ambition  had  laid  a  canker  there  ! 
When  she  was  maiden  still,  and  knew  no  thought 
She  might  not  whisper  in  her  father's  ear ! 
Gentle  as  Spring  when  hushing  the  young  dove, 
But  strong  from  virgin  battle,  with  the  flush 
Of  valorous  purpose  pure  as  goddess'  dream 
Starting  the  noble  war-blood  in  her  cheek ! 
'Tis  she  I  speak  to  now — she  that  I  love  — 
Not  the  proud  queen  grown  bold  in  blood  and  triumph ! 
Love  me,  Semiramis !    You  shall  have  peace ! 
Not  this  sick  peace  that  turns  your  heart  to  hate, 
But  peace  that  charms  the  beauty  back  to  life 
And  new  dreams  to  the  soul !    O,  no  more  war ! 
Then  lilies  springing  in  thy  steps  shall  say 
What  fairer  grace  went  by !    These  fingers  shall 
Forget  the  sword  whose  music  is  men's  groans, 


SEMIRAMIS  63 

And  on  sweet  strings  draw  out  the  heart  of  love 
To  give  the  world  the  key  of  melody ! 
Ah,  you  shall  war  no  more  — 

Sem.  Sir,  you  forget ! 

These  Ghees  - 

Kbos.  Will  not  revolt  if  I  become 

Assyria's  head !    They  trust  me  as  their — 

Sem.  You! 

Assyria's  head!    You!  you!    O,  now  I  see! 
I  'm  not  yet  blind,  although  my  heart  was  fast 
Upstealing  to  my  eyes  to  make  me  so ! 

Khos.    O  clear  thy  sight  a  second  time,  my  queen, 
And  read  me  true ! 

Sew.  And  you  had  almost  moved  me ! 

Khos.    Melt,  stony  eyes  — 

Sem.  The  magic 's  left  the  earth 

That  had  the  power  to  soften  them ! 

Khos.  Not  so  — 

Sem.    You  'd  keep  me  still  the  general's  humble 

daughter 
While  you  would  wear  the  glory  I  have  won ! 

Khos.    Nay,  by  Mylitta's  fire !  — 

Sem.  We'd  war  no  more, 

For  who  has  all  may  well  hang  by  the  sword ! 

Khos.    By  Heaven,  I— 

Sem.  O,  you  are  man  as  he  was ! 

(Looks  toward  the  garden  shuddering) 
I  '11  trust  no  more !    Who 's  worthy  trust  will  give  it ! 
So  saidst  thou  once !    But  thou  couldst  doubt — so  dark 
A  doubt  my  soul — 

Khos.  Nay,  that's  not  my  offense! 

You  are  a  woman,  and  you  must  forgive ! 
But  you  are  queen,  too,  and  the  queen  in  you 
Guards  her  ambition  from  my  honest  love 
Lest  it  divide  her  glory ! 


64  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Seta.  True,  she  guards  it ! 

Out  of  Assyrian  stone  I  '11  make  a  heart 
And  wear  it  in  my  bosom ! 

Khos.  Do  not  say  it ! 

I  did  not  mean  the  words !    They  are  not  so ! 
Thou  dost  not  know  thyself!    Hard  are  the  lips 
That  never  know  a  kiss,  and  thine  were  made 
With  softness  of  the  rose !    Though  all  the  streams 
Of  power  on  earth  poured  to  thy  sovereign  sea, 
Still  wouldst  thou  want,  and  empty  be  the  heart 
One  drop  of  love  would  fill ! 

Sera.  You  speak 

As  to  a  woman ! 

Khos.  Ay,  for  so  thou  art ! 

Be  now  thyself!    Thy  peace  alone  I  plead ! 
I  can  bear  all  but  thy  unhappiness ! 
For  love — true  love — forgets  itself  and  makes 
But  one  prayer  unto  Heaven — prayer  for  the  good 
Of  the  beloved! 

Sem.  Thou  wouldst  not  share  my  throne  ? 

Khos.    Thy  throne  ? 

Sem.  Ay,  so  I  said. 

Khos.  I  care  not  for  it, 

But  since  'tis  thine,  I  could  not  be  a  man 
Worthy  thyself  and  take  a  place  beneath  thee. 
I  'd  be  thy  husband,  and  I  know  thou  'rt  not 
A  woman  to  look  down  and  love ! 

Sem.  O  theft 

In  argument !    To  make  my  monarch  soul 
Speak  from  thy  mouth  against  me ! 

Khos.  Not  against  thee ! 

To  beg  thee  yield  to  love  is  but  to  plead 
Thy  greater  cause !    Ah,  days  will  come  to  thee 
When  all  the  maiden  in  thy  heart  will  rise 
And  drown  the  queen's !    Thou  canst  not  call  me  back ! 


SEMIRAMIS  65 

To-morrow  is  the  battle !    O,  I  lied 

To  say  thou  wert  ambitious  and  ungentle  — 

Sem.    No,  thou  didst  not !    'Tistrue!    I  am— 

Khos.  No,  no ! 

I  '11  prove  it  is  not  so !    See  here — the  dove  — 
That  nestles  at  your  breast !    Why  is  it  here  ? 

Sem.    Because  I  was  a  woman  once — and  dreamed 
On  foolish,  woman  things !    (Frees  bird  from  her  bosom) 

Fly !  fly ! 

And  as  I  pluck  thee  out  I  pluck  away 
All  thought  of  mortal  love,  and  stand  alone 
Beneath  Assyria's  crown! 

Khos.     (Gazes  at  her  in  despair)    Then  I  '11  be 


gone 


Sem.    You've   pleaded  well,  but  my    domains    are 

broad, 

And  might  give  tongue  to  wilder  eloquence 
Without  love's  sweet  excuse ! 

Khos.  No  more !    1  go ! 

(Moves  off,  left.    Near  exit,  turns) 
I  lead  my  father's  troops ! 

Sem.  I  lead  my  own ! 

(Exit  Khosrove.  She  looks  after  him  without  mov- 
ing until  he  passes  out  of  sight.  The  moonlight  is  less 
bright.  Her  dove  flies  over  her  head.  She  starts  and 
looks  after  it.  The  bird  alights.  She  watches  it  eagerly 
and  waits.  It  circles  about  her,  then  darts  to  her  bosom. 
With  an  exultant  moan  she  clasps  it  to  her  breast) 

(CURTAIN) 


66  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 


ACT  IV. 


Scene:  Within  Husak's  tent.  Husak,  Khosrove, 
Armenian  lords,  and  soldiers. 

Husak.    Bring  in  the  widow ! 

(Exeunt  officers) 

Now,  my  son,  thou'lt  see 
Assyria  at  thy  feet.    Ay,  she  who  scorned 
To  match  her  crown  with  thine,  shall  low  as  earth 
Cry  up  for  favor ! 

Khos.  Sir,  I  would  not  see  it ! 

Hus.    Still  in  that  humor  ?    Well,  I  promise  thee 
She  shall  have  mercy. 

Khos.  Mercy,  father  ? 

Hus.  Ay. 

Khos.    What  wilt  thou  grant  ? 

Hus.  Ask  of  thy  heart. 

(Khosrove  is  about  to  speak)  Peace,  boy ! 

For  once  we  '11  be  a  father,  not  a  soldier !    Wait ! 

(Khosrove  kneels  and  kisses  his  father's  hand  as 
Semiramis  enters  between  guards.  She  is  robed  and 
crowned,  her  arms  fettered  with  golden  chains,  and 
holds  herself  proudly,  not  looking  at  Husak.  She  turns 
to  Khosrove,  who  watches  her  eagerly) 

Sem.    We  meet  again.    Wertthou  upon  the  field  ? 
I  saw  thee  not.    Perchance  thy  father  thought 
'Twere  wise  to  find  his  health  and  lead  his  troops 
Lest  Love  should  blunt  thy  sword ! 

Hus.  By  Bel,  his  sword 


SEMIRAMIS  67 

Was  sharp  enough  to  find  the  heart  of  Sumbat,— 
Your  general ! 

Setn.  Sumbat  slain !     (Turns]  to]  Khosrove)  and 

slain  by  you ! 

Khos.    I  had  my  choice— to  slay  him  or  to  die. 

Sem.     (With  bitter  scorn)    And  did  the  love  that 

makes  one  prayer  to  Heaven 
Rule  in  that  choice  ? 

Hus.  These  taunts,  Semiramis  — 

Khos.    Nay,  father,  she  has  cause  to  use  me  so. 

Sew.    Oh,  you  confess  you  played  with  me !    Then, 

heart, 
In  with  thy  scorn  for  this  outbraves  thy  own ! 

(Turns  away,   folding  her   chained  hands   on   her 
breast,  and  stands  as  if  she  would  speak  no  more) 

Hus.    You  make  no  suit  for  mercy  ? 

Sem.     (Turning  to  him)    What !  from  thee  ? 
Who  kill  your  captives  ere  your  tent  is  struck, 
Nor  spare  a  guard  to  drive  them  from  the  field  ? 

Hus.    I  grant  what  I  would  ask — death  before 

serfdom ! 
You  'd  keep  them  for  your  dogs  and  slaves ! 

Sem.  And  when 

Am  I  to  die  ?    Why  breach  thy  custom  now  ? 

Hus.    We  like  your  spirit,  but  push  not  so  far, 
Or  we  shall  break  the  bounds  we've  set  ourselves. 
Have  you  not  found  us  gracious  to  your  rank  ? 
You  look  not  like  a  prisoner! 

Sem.  No  thanks 

For  that !    This  robe  and  crown,  these  chains  of  gold 
Are  compliments  that  Husak  pays  himself, 
Proclaiming  him  a  royal  victory, 
Though  not  a  royal  victor ! 

Hus.  What!    Dar'st  fling 

Into  my  face  that  the  Armenian  kings 


68  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Rule  unanointed  ?    Dost  think  that  I  would  sue 

To  Nineveh  or  Babylon  for  leave 

To  take  my  kingly  emblems  from  their  hands  ? 

But  thou — thou  shalt  owe  thine  to  me  !    I  wear 

No  proud  insignia  of  the  gods,  and  yet 

My  hands  shall  strip  and  clothe  thee  as  I  will ! 

(Tears  off  her  robe  and  crown) 

Khos.    Father ! 

Hus.  By  sun  and  moon  — 

Khos.  O,  sir  — 

Hus.  Her  pride 

Insults  my  mercy,  but  I  '11  keep  my  word. 
Take  these.     (Gives  him  the  robe  and  crown) 

Now,  woman,  learn  that  Husak  —  ay, 
Husak,  the  Fierce,  can  pity  fallen  glory ! 
Stand  forth,  my  son !    Look,  captive,  on  this  prince ! 
A  man  not  made  to  sue  to  less  than  gods ! 
Make  him  thy  husband-king,  and  from  his  hands 
Receive  thy  purple  and  remount  thy  throne ! 

(All   are    astonished.      Khosrove    shrinks    back    in 
shame,  which  Semiramis  misunderstands) 

Sem.    Methinks  this  lover  makes  no  ardent  suit, 
King  Husak !    Why,  the  sun  has  not  twice  set 
Since  he  did  swear  me  dearer  than  my  crown, 
And  now  the  crown's  too  much  if  my  poor  self 
Must  burden  it ! 

(Khosrove  kneels  before  her,  holding  up  the  crown) 

Hus.  Rise,  sir !     You  give,  not  sue ! 

(Semiramis  looks  down  on  Khosrove,  then  turns  to 
Husak) 

Sem.  Thank,  thanks, 

Old  man,  for  making  me  once  more  myself! 
For  by  the  blood  that  storms  through  all  my  veins 
I  know  I  'm  still  a  queen !    Now  all  the  pride 
That  lives  in  my  lost  crown,  and  all  the  scorn 


SEMIRAMIS  69 

Should  meet  thy  fawning  suit,  be  in  my  words , — 
I  do  refuse  3'our  son !    Assyria 
Shall  owe  her  throne  to  none ! 

(Khosrove  springs  up,  trampling  the  robe) 

Hus.  Now  thou  wilt  rise! 

A  prince  who  might  have  gone  with  gods  to  wive 
Nor  bated  them  in  choice  !    This  to  my  face ! 
I,  Husak,  fawn  on  woman!    Out  with  her! 
Drag  her  to  death !    To  instant  death !    Out !  out ! 

(Guards  approach  Semiramis) 

Khos.    To  instant  death  ? 

Hus.     (Looks  searchingly  at  him.)     Ha!  ha!    Not 

yet!    She's  thine! 
Choose  thy  revenge !    Have  now  thy  will ! 

Khos.  Thou  'It  grant  it  ? 

Hus.    Ay,  ay,  whate  'er  thou  wouldst ! 

Khos.  She  is  thy  captive. 

Hus.    I  make  her  thine!      My  conqueror's  right  I 

yield 
To  thee ! 

Khos.     Dost  swear  it  ? 

Hus.  Doubt  me  not !    I  swear ! 

Khos.    By  Belus'  star  ? 

Hus.  By  Belus'  star,  whose  beams 

Are  death  to  breakers  of  an  oath !     We  ask 
This  crown — no  more.     (Takes  crown  from  Khosrove' s 
hand)   You  pause.     Stand  not,  my  son. 
Thy  vengeance  waits.     Do  what  thou  wilt  with  her, 
We  '11  question  not. 

(Khosrove  strikes  off  the  chains  of  Semiramis) 

Khos.  Go  free  to  Nineveh. 

(Husak  stands  in  amazed  silence,  then  understands 
and  burns  with  speechless  anger.  At  last  he  speaks 
slowly  with  intense  wrath) 

Hus.    All  madmen  in  my  kingdom  die !     Bind  him ! 


70  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

(Guards  bind  Khosrove) 

Sera.    Die?     No!     O,  sir,  you  would  not  slay  your 
son? 

Has.    This  loathsome  thing  is  not  my  flesh ! 

Seta.  Thy  son ! 

Hits.    We  have  no  son.    Armenia  has  no  heir. 
Bear  him  away ! 

Sem.     (Holding  out  her  hands)     My  chains !     Dost 

think  I  '11  owe 

My  life  to  him  ?    Thou  know'st  not  yet  my  pride ! 
Bind  me  and  set  him  free ! 

Hus.     (Thunderingly)    No !    Husak  breaks 
No  oath !    We  're  not  a  god  as  Nineveh, 
And  bold  to  mock  at  Heaven ! 

Kbos.     (To  Semiramis)     I  knew  the  price, 
And  chose  to  pay  it.    'T is  my  wish.    Farewell! 

(Guards  bear  him  out) 

Hus.     (To  Semiramis)    Go  free  to  Nineveh ! 

Sera.  No !    O,  kill  me  ! 

H us.    Nay,  go !  But  go  alone  —  on  foot — and  through 
A  hostile  country ! 

Sera.  Ah ! 

Hus.  That  subject  who 

Shall  give  thee  food  or  drink  dies  in  the  act ! 
Proclaim  it,  all!  ....  Gome,  friends,  we've  not  yet  held 
The  feast  of  victory.    The  slighted  gods 
Will  snatch  away  their  favor  if  we  long 
Delay  our  revels.    Though  we  '11  miss  one  face, 

(Suppresses  a  groan) 
We'll  know  this  much — there'll  be  no  traitor  there! 

(All  leave  the  tent  but  Semiramis) 

Sem.    Alone.   .   on  foot.   .  .   and  through  a  hostile 

country ! 

I  '11  overtake  thee,  Khosrove,  ere  thou  'st  reached 
Thy  throne  among  the  stars !    Thou  goest  from  love, 


SEMIRAMIS  71 

And  wilt  look  back  and  weep  from  every  cloud ; 

I  on  thy  track  shall  pause  not  till  our  wings 

Stir  the  same  air  and  lock  in  kisses  flying ! 

...  So  pay  my  scorn  ?    How  then  hadst  loved  if  heart 

Had  brought  to  heart  its  swelling  measure  ?    Then 

Our  rosy  hours  had  been  the  pick  of  time, 

And  hung  a  flower  'mong  withered  centuries 

When  every  age  had  brought  its  reckoning  in ! 

O,  why  will  we,  some  cubits  high,  pluck  at 

The  sun  and  moon,  when  we  have  that  within 

Makes  us  the  soul  and  centre  of  Heaven  itself? 

Ambition,  thou  hast  played  away  my  crown 

And  life.    That  I  forgive  thee,  but  not  this  — 

Thou'st  robbed  me  of  the  memory  of  his  kiss. 

.  .  .  Go,  world !    The  conqueror's  trump  that  closed  my 

ears 

Unto  the  angel  in  a  lover's  voice 
Dies  to  a  moan  that  fills  but  one  lone  heart. 
And  soon  'tis  silent.    Ah,  though  woman  build 
Her  house  of  glory  to  the  kissing  skies, 
And  the  proud  sun  her  golden  rafters  lay, 
And  on  her  turrets  pause  discoursing  gods, 
Let  her  not  dare  forget  the  stanchion  truth  — 
Immortal  writ  in  every  mortal  face  — 
"  Thou  art  the  wife  and  mother  of  the  world !  " 

(Sees  Khosrove's  cloak  upon  the  Boor,  and  kneels  by 
it,  taking  it  in  her  hands) 
Aly  Khosrove!  .   .   .   Methought  a  god  struck  oflf  my 

chains 

So  strong  and  fair  he  seemed,  yet  strove  to  hide 
The  beauty  of  his  act,  as  might  a  star 
Shrink  in  its  own  sweet  light  ! 

(Buries  her  face  in  the  folds  of  the  cloak) 

O,  noble  prince, 
I  might  have  kissed  thy  lips  and  not  thy  garment ! 


72  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

(Rises  and  wraps  the  cloak  about  her.     Spurns  with 
her  foot  her  own  robe  which  has  been  left  trampled) 
Thou  purple  rag,  lie  there !    Love's  vesture  shall 
Enfold  me  as  I  go ! 

(Starts  out)     Alone.  .  .  on  foot.  .  . 
But  I've  not  far  to  journey.     Foes  are  kind.  . 
The  first  one  met.  .  .  well,  I  will  thank  him !  .  .  .  Cries  ? 
It  is  the  feast.    A  man  may  feast  who  had  — 
But  has  no  son!  ....  (Startled)     'Tis  not  the  feast !  .  . 

I  know 
That  noise  confused — hoarse  shouts  —  shrieks  —  pawing 

steeds  — 

And  rumbling  chariots !    Those  are  the  tones 
Of  battle !    O,  the  bloody  work !    'T  is  war ! 
Did  it  delight  me  once  ?    .  .  .  Assyrian  cries ! 
My  troops!    my  troops!    They've  rallied!    How  they 

cheer ! 
What  brave  heart  leads  them  on  ? 

(Cries  come  nearer) 

Poor  creatures,  they 

Would  save  me,  knowing  not  I  died  with  Khosrove. 
I  will  not  live  — 

(The  rear  of  the  tent  is  torn  away  by  an  onslaught. 
Assyrian  troops  enter,  led  by  Artavan) 

Art.        Semiramis ! 

Sew.  My  brother ! 

You  live ! 

Art.       And  you ! 

Sem.  Praise  Heaven  there  is  one 

Will  comfort  my  sad  kingdom ! 

Art.  Nay,  all 's  well ! 

The  death  of  Ninus  freed  me  from  my  prison ; 
I  gathered  troops  and  pushed  hard  after  you, 
To  hear  you  had  been  taken ;  then  I  planned 
This  rescue.  Thank  great  Belus,  I  'm  in  time ! 


SEMIRAMIS  73 

Setn.    In  time  ?    Nay,  thou  'rt  too  late ! 

Art.  Too  late  ?    When  thou 

Dost  live  ? 

Sem.    Hive?    No!    Thou 'rt  deceived! 

Art.  O  Heaven ! 

.  .  She 's  dazed !    Her  troubles  have  bewildered  her. 
All 's  well,  my  sister !    Husak  has  been  taken. 
Thy  crown  itself  is  in  our  hands.    .  .  The  crown  ! 

(A  soldier  hands  it  to  him) 
You  see  'tis  safe.     (She  takes  it  idly) 

Sem.    A  crown.    For  such  a  thing 
Wouldst  give  thy  Sola  ? 

Art.  She  is  dear  to  me, 

But  ay,  by  Heaven,  I  would ! 

Sem.  You  would  ?    I  know 

A  greater  thing  than  this. 

Art.  What,  sister  ? 

Sem.     (Letting  the  crown  fall)  Love. 

Art.    O,  she  is  crazed !    This  is  some  evil  work ! 
Bring  in  the  captive  Husak !    He  shall  speak ! 

Sem.    O,  brother,  once  I  thought  thy  love  was  truest 
That  ever  husband  gave  to  wife,  but  now 
It  showeth  dark  against  my  lover's  truth! 

Art.    Semiramis.  .  .  sweet  sister.  .  What  dost  mean? 
.  .  I  '11  know  the  cause  of  this !    Call  in  the  prince 
With  Husak! 

Sem.  Prince  ? 

Art.  Ay.  .  Khosrove,  whom  we  found 

In  chains  —  I  know  not  why — and  I  unbound  him, 
Recalling  how  he  saved  my  life,  —  but  now 
I  '11  know  what  thou  hast  suffered  at  his  hands ! 

Sem.    You  found  him  bound?     I  can  not  hear — or 
see! 

Art.    She   swoons — she    dies  —  O,  true,  we  are  too 
late! 


74  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Sem.    No,  brother,  thou  'rt  in  time !    I  live !    I  live ! 
I  am  Semiramis !    Give  me  my  crown ! 
Now  this  small  circlet  seems  to  me  the  world, 
And  it  is  mine — to  wear  —  or  give  away ! 
Is 't  not,  good  friends  ? 

Voices.  Ay,  't  is ! 

(Enter  soldiers  with  Husak  and  Khosrove,  Husak  in 
fetters) 

Sem.    King  Husak,  hear ! 
Assyria  and  Armenia  should  be  friends, 
Joining  true  hands  to  bring  a  happj'  peace 
O'er  all  the  East.    And  in  that  dearest  hope 
I  free  thee.     (Unbinds  him)     But  thy  son,  the  prince, 

must  be 
Again  my  prisoner. 

Hus.  O,  queen,  I  've  spent 

One  childless  hour,  and  rather  would  I  die 
Than  know  another.    Take  my  life  for  his. 

Art.    Dost  thou  forget,  Semiramis,  that  once 
He  saved  thy  brother  ? 

Sem.  I  remember  all, 

But  will  not  change  his  doom.    He  must  be  bound, 
Nor  from  my  fetters  may  he  go  alive. 
These  are  his  chains —  (Putting  her  arms  about  his  neck) 

his  prison  deathless  love, 

And  here  I  pray  that  he  will  wear  this  crown, 
And  hold  with  me  the  great  Assyrian  throne ! 
.  .  .  (calls)  My  chariot! 

Khos.  My  queen  !  my  queen ! 

Sem.  Wilt  thou 

Consent  ? 

Khos.     (Kisses  her  lips)    I  answer  here. 

(The  royal  chariot  appears,  rear.     They  step  in) 

Sem.     (Giving  the  reins  to  Khosrove)    To  Nineveh! 
(CURTAIN) 


CARLOTTA 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  1.    Miramar. 
SCENE  2.    In  the  mountains  of  Mexico. 

ACT  II. 
SCENE  1.    Chapultapec. 

ACT  III. 

SCENE  1.    Before  the  Imperial  Theatre. 
SCENE  2.    Within  the  theatre. 

ACT  IV. 
SCENE  1.    Queretaro. 


SCENE  1. 
SCENE  2. 


ACT  V. 
The  Tuileries. 
Miramar. 


CHARACTERS 


MAXIMILIAN,  Emperor  of  Mexico 

CARLOTTA,  Empress  of  Mexico 

Louis  NAPOLEON,  Emperor  of  France 

EUGENIE,  Empress  of  France 

BENITO  JUAREZ,  President  of  Mexico 

IGNACIO,  nephew  to  Juarez 

RAFAEL  MENDORES,  friend  of  Ignacio 

ASEFFA,  wife  of  Rafael 

TREVINO,  ESCOBEDO,  GARZA,  officers  in  the  Liberal  Army 

MIRAMON,  leader  of  the  Imperial  party 

MARSHAL  BAZAINE,  head  of  the  French  Army  in  Mexico 

MARQUEZ,  MEJIA,  MENDEZ,  DUPIN,  LOPEZ,  of  the  Imper- 
ial army 

ABBOT  of  Lacroma 

ARCHBISHOP  LABASTIDA,  head  of  the  Mexican  church 

PRINCE  SALM-SALM,  friend  and  officer  of  Maximilian 

PRINCE  ZICHY, 

Ruiz,  BERZABAL,  ESTRADA,  Mexican  nobles 

LADY  MARIA,  sister  to  Count  Charles 

PRINCESS  SALM-SALM 

PRINCESS  ZICHY 

PRINCESS  METTERNICH 

SENOR  'HURBET,  GENERAL  CASTLENAU,  MARQUIS  DE 
GALLIFET,  in  the  service  of  Louis  Napoleon 

AUSTRIAN,  BELGIAN,  PRUSSIAN,  and  other  foreign  minis- 
ters at  the  court  of  Napoleon  III. 

Imperial  soldiers,  Liberal  soldiers,  guards,  rabble,  ladies 
of  honor,  officers  of  the  court,  etc.,  etc. 


CARLOTTA 


ACT  I. 


Scene  I:    Reception  hall,  castle  of  Miramar,  near 
Trieste.    Enter  Count  Charles,  book  in  hand. 

Char.    Ah,  books  must  be  put  by  for  swords,  I  wot, 
When  this  wild  journey  to  the  West  begins. 
'Tis  change  enough !    O  shifting,  shuffling  life ! 
Come,  Shakespeare,  magic  mason,  build  me  worlds 
That  never  shake  however  winds  may  blow, 
Founded  on  dream  imperishable !    (Sits  and  reads.  Enter 
Lady  Maria) 

Mar.  Charles ! 

Not  reading !    Dost  know  what  day  it  is  ? 

Char.  Ay,  sister ! 

A  day  to  make  a  scholar  tremble,  and  hug 
His  books  in  fever  of  farewell. 

Mar.  Didst  see 

The  splendid  carriages  glittering  up  the  drive  ? 


80  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

And  O,  so  many ! 

Char.  They  have  arrived  ? 

Mar.  Arrived ! 

Why,  all  the  Mexican  deputies,  arrayed 
Like  their  own  sunsets, — the  ambassadors 
From  Austria,  Belgium,  France,  —  the  princesses, 
And  countesses,  now  in  the  guest-room  wait 
The  stroke  of  twelve  to  enter !    'Tis  nearly  time, 
And  you  sit  here !    Put  by  your  Englishman ! 
Come,  put  him  by,  I  say !    He 's  dead ;  we  live. 
He's  had  his  due  and  passed. 

Char.  Nay,  his  account 

Is  writ  forever  current.    His  book  of  praise 
Time  closes  not,  but  waits  some  language  new 
To  enter  it,  and  at  his  monument 
Fame  yet  stands  carving. 

Mar.     (Taking-  book  and  closing  it)    So !  She 's  time 

enough ! 
We've  other  work.     (Gently)    Is  not  the  princess  sad  ? 

Char.    I  pray  her  heavy  tears,  weighing  like  stones, 
Will  hold  her  back  from  sea ! 

Mar.  Hush,  Charles !  She  comes ! 

(Enter  Carlotta,  richly  dressed) 

Car.    Ah,  cousins,  trimming  now  your   smiles    to 

greet 
The  deputies  ? 

Char.  Nay,  calling  up  our  tears 

To  grace  farewell  to  Miramar ! 

Car.  No  tears ! 

We'll  think  but  of  an  empire  and  a  crown, 
Not  Miramar ! 

(Enter  Maximilian,  dressed  in  the  uniform  of  Vice- 
Admiral  of  the  Austrian  navy) 

Max.  An  empire  and  a  crown  ? 

At  last  I  am  out-rivalled  in  your  heart ! 


CARLOTTA  81 


Car.    Nay,  nay,  them  know'st,  my  lord,  them  art  my 


empire 


Grant  me  so  much  as  now  I  look  upon 

And  I  'm  as  rich  as  Jove  with  Saturn's  sceptre 

New-swinging  o'er  the  world! 

Char.  Then  you  risk  much 

For  an  unstable  throne. 

Car.  Not  risk ! 

Char.  The  men 

Who  've  governed  Mexico,  for  the  most  part, 
Have  paid  their  heads  for  it. 

Mar.  O,  Charles ! 

C&ar.  'Tis  true. 

Car.    Our  safety  is  in  the  Emperor  of  France. 
He 's  the  strong  angel  in  this  noble  scheme ! 

Char.    Safety  in  him  ?    Nay,  madam,  by  my  soul, 
The  lightest  smile  that  breaks  upon  his  lips, 
As  though  a  breeze  but  touched  there,  hides  a  plot 
May  hang  our  hearts  with  lead ! 

Car.  How  you  misjudge  him ! 

In  Paris  when  he  pledged  his  faith  to  us 
His  eyes  more  than  his  words  assured  his  heart 
Unto  our  cause.    I  trust  him,  yea,  I  trust  him ! 

Char.    There  is  a  woman  on  the  throne  of  France ! 
She  is  the  Eve  to  this  slow-blooded  Adam, 
Dutch-born  Napoleon,  and  holdeth  up 
The  globe  as  't  were  an  apple  for  his  hand. 
She  builds  mock  images  of  dreams  that  died 
On  Helena's  lone  rock,  and  teaches  him 
They  are  not  ghosts  of  dream  but  dream  indeed ! 
Mexico,  burning  with  gold  and  sunset's  fire, 
Pouring  the  crimson  of  internal  strife, 
To  her  is  but  a  jewel  in  crude  bed 
She'd  have  you  pick  and  polish  for  her  crown ! 

Car.    Had  you  but  heard  her  sweet  devoted  voice 


82  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Pleading  with  us  for  sake  of  the  true  Church 
To  finish  now  this  great  emprise  begun, 
You  would  believe  her  holy. 

Char.  If  she  is  holy, 

And  if  Napoleon  be  true  in  this, 
Then  is  he  God's  perfection  of  a  man, 
And  she  earth's  sole  and  sainted  paragon ! 
But  wait — O  wait  and  see  ere  you  risk  life 
And  honor! 

Car.    You  're  wrong — so  wrong — but  this  is  strange. 

0  why  are  we  not  happy?    (Turning  to  window  and 

gazing  out) 

Char.     (Following  her)     Because,  my  cousin, 
This  is  not  Miramar  as  we  have  known  it. 
The  scholar's  home,  the  soldier's  fair  retreat, 
The  noble  heart's  sweet  fane  and  altar  spot, 
But  Miramar  with  great  ambition's  storm 
Rolling  its  thunders  'gainst  her  peaceful  walls ! 

Max.    But  to  live  idly  is  never  to  be  born. 
Shall  we  sit  here  at  ease  when  God  has  found 
The  work  for  us  ?    He  with  his  pontiff  finger 
Points  to  the  sea — 

Car.  (Turning)    Sweet  Miramar! 

If  God  points  to  the  sea,  why  gave  he  this  ? 
This  heaven-spot,  this  nesting  place  of  love, 
Hung  like  a  garland  'tween  the  sea  and  rocks ! 
Ah,  dear  my  lord,  some  curse  will  follow  us 
Who  can  desert  this  peace-embalmed  place 
To  seek  a  glory  fairer  but  in  name ! 

1  dare  not  do  it! 

Max.     (Taking  her  hands)     'Tis  you  shall  sa.y, 

my  wife. 

If  to  stay  here  's  your  wish,  that  wish  is  mine, 
Maybe  I've  dreamed  too  much  of  deeds  of  good, 
And  visionary  feats  in  that  far  land ; 


CARLOTTA  83 

Then  let  it  be  your  yea  or  nay,  my  love. 

Car.    O  leave  it  not  to  me,  for  in  a  yea 
My  vanity  will  speak,  and  in  a  nay 
My  fear ! 

Max.    A  slander  on  these  lips  ?    A  kiss 
Were  better !     (Kisses  her.    Enter  Marquis  Corio) 

Cor.  The  noble  guests  approach.    Will' t  please 

Your  Highnesses  assume  your  places  ? 

Max.  Yea, 

Or  nay,  Carlotta  ? 

Afar.  O,  they  come !  they  come  ! 

Char.     (Hastily  and  earnestly) 
Nay,  if  you  love  your  lord !    That  is  a  land 
Of  murder,  treason,  carnage  and  revolt ! 
The  very  air  cries  out  'go  not !  go  not ! ' 
E'en  yon  cloud-turbanned  peak,  that  never  moves 
Whate'er  the  circling  stars  propound  to  vex 
His  silent  wisdom,  warns  with  forbidding  nod ! 
O  noblest  cousin  — 

Car.  (In  agitation)    An  empire !  Miramar ! 

(Maximilian  takes  place  centre.  A  table  in  front  of 
him  covered  with  maps  and  papers.  Carlotta  by  him, 
Count  Charles  and  Lady  Maria  in  their  rear.  Enter 
Archduke  of  Austria,  and  nobles,  who  take  position  at 
some  distance  from  Maximilian  on  his  right.  Enter 
Belgian  Minister,  Abbot  of  Lacroma,  Princess  of  Met- 
ternich,  Princess  Zichy,  Countess  Kollonitz,  and  others. 
They  stand  at  distance  to  left  of  Maximilian.  Enter  the 
Imperial  delegate,  Senor  Hurbet,  and  General  Frassart, 
Napoleon's  Adjutant  of  the  Field.  The  former  takes 
place  immediately  at  Maximilian's  right,  the  latter  at 
left  of  Carlotta.  Marquis  Corio  at  door.  Enter  the 
Mexican  deputies,  Estrada,  Berzabal,  Negrete,  Ruiz,  and 
a  dozen  others.  Estrada,  as  president  of  the  deputation, 
makes  low  salute) 


84  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Max.    Welcome,  my  lords,  to  Miramar ! 

Est.  Hail,  Prince, 

And  fairest  princess !    The  grace  and  hope  of  morning 
Be  ever  on  your  lives ! 

Car.  Most  noble  senors, 

We  give  you  thanks  and  greeting. 

Max.  Your  presence  here, 

My  lords,  would  move  our  hearts  although  you  brought 
No  crown  to  guerdon  welcome. 

Est.  O,  gracious  prince, 

Our  tongues  but  feebly  bear  the  mighty  love 
The  land  of  Montezuma  bade  us  lay 
Low  at  your  feet.    Your  starry  virtues  draw 
Her  prayers  and  hopes  and  holiest  desires 
Across  the  sea  in  humblest  supplication. 
We  make  no  weary  tale  of  our  misfortunes ; 
They  are  so  great  the  world  is  heavy  with  them, 
And  Mexico  means  but  calamity 
To  every  ear. 

Max.  My  dear  and  honored  lords, 

The  heart  is  granite  and  the  veins  are  ice 
That  will  not  stir  at  your  deep  miseries. 

Est.    Ah,  sir,  this  crown  is  heavy,  but  you  will  bear 
The  golden  weight  as  't  were  the  aureole 
That  seals  the  saint  to  God ! 

Max.  But  not  without 

Consent  of  every  subject  should  I  wear  it. 
Does  Mexico  send  all  her  hearts  with  you  ? 

Ruiz.     (Spreading  paper  on  table)      Read  here    the 

proclamation  now  in  force 
In  all  our  provinces. 

Max.  And  this  has  been 

By  each  assembly  ratified  ? 

Berzabal.  Ay,  prince ! 

It  is  a  nation,  not  these  dozen  men, 


CARLOTTA  85 

That  with  a  million  voices  prays  to  you ! 

Max.    From  childhood  up  I've  sought  to  obey  my 

God, 

But  never  dreamed  that  he  would  bless  my  life 
With  such  high  sanction  as  I  read  herein.    (Lifting paper) 
Forgive  a  tear,  my  lords.    .  .  .    But  we  must  ask 
That  crowned  Europe  give  a  sacred  oath 
To  guarantee  our  empire's  permanence. 

Archduke.    Brother,  I  bring  the  word  of  Austria, 
Whose  prayers,  whose  arms,  whose  subjects'  blood  are 

yours, 
While  she  has  blood  or  arms  to  give ! 

Belgian  Minister.  For  Belgium 

I  speak  —  the  princess'  true  and  royal  father, 
Whose  little  kingdom  measures  not  his  heart ! 

Senor  Hurbet.    And  I,  my  lord,  have  here  the  signed 

oath 

Of  Mightiest  France,  whose  fifty-thousand  men 
Now  guard  the  cradle  of  the  new  born  peace 
In  Mexico !    Read  here  what  he  will  do. 

Max.     (Reads)      Enough.      .  .  .  My  lords,  should  I 

accept  this  crown, 
'T  would  be  with  holiest  expectation 
To  reign  in  love  and  peace,  but  your  past  struggles 
Point  to  a  term  of  danger  and  much  risk 
Ere  our  star  shines  above  all  factious  spite. 
Stood  I  alone  I  should  not  hesitate, 
But  here  is  one  more  dear  than  my  own  life, 
Whom  I  must  cherish  more  than  my  own  life, 
Within  whose  heart  I  must  find  out  my  answer ; 
And  God  be  thanked  her  wisdom  beams  so  true 
Above  the  hesitations  of  my  mind 
That  I  can  love  her  yea  or  nay  as  'twere 
By  Heaven  spoke ! 

Est.  Then  to  your  mercy,  princess, 


86  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

We  now  commit  our  hope. 

Car.  Most  worthy  lords, 

I  am  so  proud  that  I  would  wear  a  crown, 
So  pitying  I  would  weep  my  heart  away 
For  your  sad  country,  and  so  vain  I  think 
The  lord  that  married  me  might  lead  you  from 
Rebellion's  night  to  civil-kissing  hours  ; 
But  yet  a  woman  bonded  unto  love, 
Not  my  own  mistress.    The  life  bound  up  with  mine 
Is  dearer  than  the  peace  of  any  state, 
And  looking  deep  into  your  country's  heart 
I  read  some  cruel  marks  of  history 
That  teach  me  fear  for  any  precious  thing 
Consigned  unto  its  love. 

Est.  If  ever  souls 

Lay  bare  to  human  eyes,  read  now  in  ours 
The  loyalty  which  you  will  find  in  every  subject ! 

Ruiz.    Be  merciful!    Earth  aches  through  her  rock- 
ribs 
With  our  old  woes,  and  it  is  you  may  heal  them  ! 

Ber.    Pity  will  teach  thee  soon  to  love  our  land ! 

Car.    My  lords,  already  I  love  Mexico, 
And  would  forego  the  peace  of  Miramar,  — 
All  happy  days  that  from  the  future  lean 
To  meet  my  smiles,  as  trifles  whose  light  thought 
Shames  this  great  hour ;  but  when  in  dream  I  see 
My  lord  beset  by  foes  in  foreign  land, 
The  help  he  needs  beyond  a  three-months'  sea, 
My  princess  pride  flags  to  a  peasant  fear 
For  one  dear  life ! 

-Est.  Wrong  not  yourself,  your  lord, 

And  Mexico,  O  gentlest  lady  — 

Car.  Nay  — 

Est.    Say  yea,  and  our  expectant  land  will  feel 
The  thrill  of  that  affirmative  across 


CARLOTTA  87 

The  glad  Atlantic !    Yea— and  France,  whose  name 

Is  in  our  hearts  as  God's,  will  bless  thy  tongue ! 

Say  yea,  and  noble  England,  watchful  Spain, 

Who  with  great  France  began  the  holy  work 

Of  blessed  liberation  will  applaud 

With  happy  echoes  to  the  guardian  skies ! 

Say  yea,  and  the  white  spirit  of  the  Church 

Will  take  'neath  her  soft  wings  our  blood-drenched  land, 

That  waits  but  for  that  word  to  hail  thy  lord 

Regenerator,  king ! 

Car.  My  lords,  my  lords, 

We  are  but  human !    Maj-hap  we  will  not  keep 
The  love  that  we  have  won ! 

Senor  Hur.  Fear  not,  O  princess ! 

Behind  your  throne,  with  uuretreating  sword. 
Will  stand  the  first  great  power  of  all  the  world ! 
Thus  speak  I  for  the  emperor  of  France ! 

Princess  Metternich   (Advancing)   I  for  the  empress ! 

Eugenie  bade  me  speak 

Her  heart  out  here,  and  hail  thee  sister  empress ! 
To  ask  when  your  young  empire  blooms  above 
The  lily  of  old  France,  and  lures  the  East 
To  pour  her  golden  heart  into  your  port, 
And  ocean  blossoms  with  your  argosies, 
You  '11  still  remember  that  she  loved  you  when 
You  were  but  princess  and  no  farther  ruled 
Then  stretch  the  gardens  of  small  Miramar ! 

Car.    O  generous  Eugenie !    But  the  fear  — 

Abbot  of  Lacroma.    To  speak  of  fear  in  this  is  to 

doubt  God ! 

He  does  not  bless  in  vain  a  noble  prince 
With  such  rare  qualities  as  crown  the  mind 
Of  Maximilian !    'Tis  for  some  purpose  rare 
He  rounds  such  excellence  with  highest  birth 
And  puts  a  sword  of  power  in  his  hand ! 


88  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER   PLAYS 

From  over  seas  unto  your  very  feet 

A  nation  comes  to  choose  from  all  the  world 

One  made  by  Heaven  to  be  its  sovereign  lord, 

Cool  hearts  of  passion  in  his  amity, 

Make  bitter  eyes  forget  their  ancient  hate, 

And  proudest  knees  bow  with  old  enemies 

In  worship  of  his  star  beneficent ! 

There  pale  and  crushed  Peace 

Shall  take  the  color  of  the  living  rose, 

Hearing  the  voice  of  his  protecting  love 

That  comes  to  lift  her  beauty  from  the  dust 

And  on  that  ground  volcanic  nobly  build 

Her  temple  indestructible ! 

There  shall  his  kingly  mind  find  outward  means 

To  write  sublimity  upon  the  world, 

And  like  old  Egypt  speak  in  pyramids 

To  nations  unbegot  in  dream  of  Time ! 

And  can  you  shock  the  hour  with  hesitation  ? 

Ask  all  the  waiting  world,  — ay,  even  God, 

To  pause  and  count  the  heart-beats  of  a  woman  ? 

Car.     (Devoutly,  with  uplifted  hands  and  eyes) 
Forgive  me,  Heaven,  that  I  doubted  thee ! 

(Takes  Maximilian's  hands,  turns  with  great  dignity 
to  the  deputies,  and  speaks  solemnly) 
Senors,  we'll  wear  the  crown  of  Mexico. 

(Silence.  The  abbot  ofLacroma  advances;  Carlotta 
and  Maximilian  drop  to  their  knees  as  he  extends  his 
arms  above  them  in  blessing) 


Scene  II:  A  camp  in  the  mountains  of  Mexico. 
Night.  Aseffa  preparing  food  by  a  fire.  She  goes  aside, 
listens,  and  returns. 

Asef.     O  Mexico,  thou  traitress  unto  love, 
Wilt  trample  every  heart  that 's  true  to  thee  ? 


CARLOTTA  89 

(Listens.  Enter  Miguel  and  Lerdo,  very  ragged  and 
gaunt)  Miguel !  Lerdo !  Rafael  not  come  ?  Where  did 
you  leave  him  ? 

Lerdo.  Nowhere,  Senora. 

Asef.  Oh ! 

Mig.  Don't  flutter,  little  bird.  We  mean  that  he  left 
us.  He  set  off  as  fresh  as  the  morning  to  make  the  circuit 
of  another  mountain  while  we  could  barely  creep  up  to 
camp. 

Asef.  You  are  hungry!  I'll  give  you  Rafael's 
supper ! 

Ler.  Hungry?  No!  I've  had  two  biscuits  since 
3^esterday,  and  sixty  miles  is  n't  far  to  go  on  that. 

Mig.  And  as  much  good  air  and  water  as  a  soldier 
need  want ! 

Asef.    Here!    Take  it.     'T is  good.     Indeed  it  is! 

Mig.  Smoking  meat !  Ha !  Who  brought  it  ?  Has 
the  Holy  Virgin  been  in  camp  ? 

Asef.    No,  but  I  've  been  down  to  the  valley. 

Ler.    You  ? 

Asef.    Yes,  —  and  I  've  a  little  gold  left,  too ! 

(Showing  purse) 

Mig.    You  paid  five  pesos  for  that  dish ! 

Asef.    A  good  guesser  would  double  the  price. 

Mig.  And  for  Rafael's  supper!  No,  I  can  go  two 
more  days  yet.  (Puts  food  aside) 

Asef.  But  you  shall  not.  Come,  eat!  I '11  feed  you 
then,  and  you  don't  want  Juarez'  soldiers  to  be  turned 
into  babies,  do  you  ? 

Mig.  I'll  yield!  In  fact,  there's  an  orator  within 
that  speaks  with  a  most  convincing  pinch.  (They  eat) 

Asef.  (Watching)  Poor  fellows!  They'll  not  leave 
him  a  mouthful! 

Ler.    Where  is  the  general  ? 

Asef.     (Pointing  up  the  hill)  Asleep.  Have  you  news? 


90  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Ler.    None  to  bring  good  dreams.    Let  him  sleep. 

Mig.  Lord,  a  meal  a  day  like  this  and  I  could  drive 
the  whole  French  army  into  the  sea !  (Rising)  Now  if 
these  rags  could  be  turned  back  to  their  first  fortunes, 
I  'd  be  Don  Miguel  dejTejada  again !  You  would  n't  think 
that  these  tags  and  tatters  had  waltzed  with  the  presi- 
dent's niece  at  the  capital,  would  you  now  ? 

Asef.  You  must  let  me  mend  your  clothes  as  I  do 
Rafael's. 

Mig.  Faith,  Senora,  you  would  have  to  begin  too 
many  months  back.  No,  I  '11  hang  out  my  banners  as  a 
knight  of  liberty  should,  and  be  Don  Miguel  de  Tejada 
still.  Asleep,  my  Lerdo  ?  A  good  example,  too.  (Lies 
down)  Good-night,  Senora  the  Blessed ! 

Asef.  Good-night,  Don  Miguel  de  Tejada!  (The 
soldiers  sleep.  She  waits  and  listens.  Runs  aside  and 
looks  down  the  valley) 

Asef.    Rafael!     (Steps  approach.    Enter  Rafael) 

Raf.     (Embracing  her)   Here's  Heaven  for  the  weary! 

Asef.  So  tired  ?  And  I  have  nothing  for  you ! 
(Looks  toward  soldiers)  They  were  so  hungry. 

Raf.  They  're  welcome  to  it.  (Kissing  her)  Here  is 
my  banquet,  — my  feast  of  beauty  and  my  wine  of  love! 

(Staggers  to  a  rock  and  sits  feebly) 

Asef.    O-h !    You  've  been  so  far !  — too  far ! 

Raf.  We  rode  all  daj,  but  made  no  terms  for  food. 
The  people  are  afraid.  Whoever  gives  us  bread  forfeits 
his  life  and  home. 

AseL  I  bought  some  meat  of  a  poor  woman  to-day. 
She  needed  the  money. 

Raf.  And  if  the  Imperials  find  her  out  they  '11  murder 
her  and  set  her  hut  in  flames ! 

Asef.    Oh!    What  shall  we  do ? 

Raf.  We  are  an  army.  We  '11  do  as  armies  do.  Take 
food  where  we  can  find  it. 


CARLOTTA  91 

Asef.    O,  Rafael! 

Raf.    Yes,  love,  we  '11  play  the  robber  to  fill  the  mouth 
of  Liberty,  — she's  fed  too  long  on  thistles. 

Asef.    She 's  a  stern  mistress,  Rafael. 

Raf.  But  sweeter,  love, 

Her  harshest  frown  that  summer  smiles  of  kings ! 
O,  I  reproach  her  not,  even  when  I  see 
My  dearest  friends  lie  dying  in  her  name ! 
A  bed  of  stones  is  soft  enough  for  me 
If  she  but  rock  to  sleep,  —  a  crust  to-day, 
To-morrow  none,  and  at  her  board  I  'm  fed. 
But  when  I  look  on  you,  my  traitor  blood 
Flies  from  her  service.     Oh,  to  see  these  hands 
That  plucked  no  beauty  ruder  than  the  rose, 
So  meanly  laboring  in  the  basest  needs ! 
Your  gentle  body  resting  on  cold  earth, 
Glad  of  a  blanket  'tween  you  and  the  sod, 
While  in  your  bed  the  foreign  robber  sleeps ! 
This  shakes  my  loyalty  till  I  could  hate 
The  fair,  unspotted  cause  my  sword  is  drawn  in ! 

Asef.    Stop,  Rafael !    O  thank  God  these  hands  have 

known 

That  blessed  of  all  fortunes,— to  toil  for  love! 
These  eyes  that  sought  for  but  a  face  more  fair, 
A  flower  more  sweet,  have  found  the  stars  that  rise 
Where  Truth  and  Courage  wander  in  the  night ! 
In  southern  vales  maybe  we  '11  hear  again 
The  morning  birds  sing  at  our  bowered  windows, 
But  we  will  not  forget  the  nobler  song 
Now  borne  by  winds  about  these  mountain  peaks,  — 
The  song  of  man  made  free ! 

Raf.  We  '11  not  forget. 

But  will  that  sweet  day  come  ?    Tell  me,  Aseffa, 
You  who  are  half  a  sibyl,  —  shall  we  go  down 
That  valley  to  our  home  ? 


SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 


Asef.  'T  is  not  to  gain 

Our  father's  halls,  and  sit  'neath  fig  and  vine, 
We  hide  and  starve  and  stagger  in  these  hills, 
But  to  keep  noble  the  last  hour  of  life, 
That  Death  who  gathers  it  may  read  thereon 
The  seal  immortal  of  approving  God. 

Raf.    Yes  —  dear  Aseffa — but  —  (Faints) 

Asef.  Rafael !    Rafael ! 

Ah,  dying !    O  my  prating  virtue 's  gone ! 
I  care  for  naught  but  that  my  love  shall  live ! 
O,  Liberty,  wilt  spare  me  this  one  life  ? 
.  .  Ho!    Miguel!    Up! 

Mig.  Hey!    What!     Senora!    .  .  Ah! 

Lerdo.    What 's  here  ? 

Asef.         There's  wine  in  the  general's  tent !    Rafael ! 
My  love,  my  love,  look  up !  .  .  .  O  Mexico, 
With  all  thy  veins  of  gold  thou  art  not  worth 
One  dear  drop  of  his  blood ! 

(Enter  General  Trevino) 

Trev.  What 's  this  new  grief? 

Not  Rafael!  ....  He  faints.    'T is  hunger.  .  .  hunger. 
Miguel !    Lerdo  !     Bear  him  to  my  tent. 
Give  him  what  food  you  find  there.    First  the  wine ! 

(Soldiers  go  out  with  Rafael.  Aseffa  follows.  As  she 
passes  the  general  she  drops  to  her  knees  and  kisses  his 
hands) 

Trev.     (Alone)    Starvation  now  or  plunder.     We'll 

quarter  where 

We  can.     .  .  A  horseman!    If 'tis  Ignacio 
We  shall  have  news. 

(Enter  Ignacio,  from  riding) 

Ig.  Who 's  here  ? 

Trev.  Ignacio  ? 

Ig.     (Saluting)     Your  pardon,  sir ! 

Trev.  You  're  from  the  capital  ? 


CARLOTTA  93 

Ig.    Three  days  ago  I  left  the  city.    I  've  slept 
On  horseback  since. 

Trev.  Your  news ! 

Ig.  We  fight  an  empire. 

The  Austrian  is  crowned. 

Trev.  Impossible ! 

Where  are  our  people  ?    Salas  ?    and  LeVal  ? 

Ig.    They  shouted  at  his  welcome.    At  Vera  Cruz 
Began  the  unholy  pageantry,  that  showed 
As  Christ  had  come  again  and  all  men  knew  him ! 
Each  province  drained  its  beauty  by  the  way ; 
The  mules  that  drew  him  caught  the  vanity 
And  picked  their  steps  on  flowers. 

Trev.  Tell  me  no  more. 

O  Gratitude,  thou  hast  no  home  on  earth  ! 
Twelve  months  did  Juarez  rule,  and  in  twelve  months 
Did  what  no  man  can  do  but  God  is  with  him ! 
He  healed  contention's  wounds,  set  up  new  schools, 
Released  the  land  from  priestcraft's  ancient  grip, 
Rebuilt  our  credit,  destroyed  by  Miramon, 
The  robber  president,  who  bonded  the  land 
To  France,  then  set  the  sword  of  Europe  'gainst  us 
Because  we  could  not  pay  the  unjust  debt 
From  treasuries  that  his  own  hands  had  emptied. 
O,  'twas  a  crime  too  big  for  Heaven's  eye, 
And  so  God  let  it  pass !    France  could  not  know — 
But  our  own  people  knew — how  Juarez  toiled 
To  shape  the  nation  to  his  noble  thought ! 

Ig.    Yes —yes — they  knew ! 

Trev.  We  '11  break  our  swords,  my  boy. 

We  have  no  country. 

Ig.  Is  my  uncle  yet 

In  Texas  ? 

Trev.    Ay,  and  we  will  go  to  him. 
.  .  .  Ungrateful  ground  that  casts  all  goodness  from  it, 


94  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

And  sucks  a  gilded  poison ! 

(Enter  Rafael,  Aseffa,  Miguel,  Lerdo,  and  others  of 
the  camp) 

Raf.     (To  Trevino)  Sir,  you  will  miss 

Your  breakfast,  but  I  pledge  my  sword  you  '11  have 
To-morrow's  supper !  .  .  .  .  Ignacio ! 

Iff.  You  here, 

My  Rafael !     (They  embrace)    Aseffa  too ! 

Asef.  Dear  friend!  (They 

greet  affectionately) 

Raf.    And  Maximilian  is  crowned  ? 

Ig.  Yes.  .  .  crowned. 

Raf.    You  saw  him  ? 

Ig.  In  the  cathedral,  with  the  empress. 

Asef.    The  empress  ? 

Raf.  What  looks  he  like  ?    This  Austrian  duke 

That  with  a  stolen  crown  mocks  majesty ! 

Ig.    He  looks  like  majesty,  and  yet  is  graced 
With  Nature's  gentlest  stamp ;  his  countenance 
Takes  beauty  from  his  smile ;  his  smile,  one  thinks, 
Takes  sweetness  from  a  heart  that  has  its  own 
Nobility  from  heaven. 

Trev.  An  enemy 

Well  praised! 

Asef.  The  empress  ?    She  bewitched  you  too  ? 

(Ignacio  is  silent) 
Come,  sir !    The  truth  of  her ! 

Ig.  The  truth  ?    Go  ask 

The  angels.    They  've  tongues  for  such  sweet  purpose. 

Trev.  What ! 

Ignacio  turned  squire  o'  the  empire  ? 

Ig.  No. 

But  I  can  read  a  holy  woman's  face, 
Though  she  by  some  strange  counterfeit  of  truth 
Would  put  an  empress'  foot  upon  our  necks. 


CARLOTTA  95 

Asef.    What  is  she  like  ? 

Ig.  Like  nothing  but  herself. 

She  is  not  gentle,  for  gentleness  is  but 
Rude  servant  to  that  quality  in  her ; 
Gracious  she's  not,  for  grace  herself  doth  serve 
A  poor  handmaiden  to  her  excellence ; 
Nor  beautiful,  for  Beauty  asks  her  name 
To  wear  but  that  and  know  her  own  no  more. 

(In  the  silence  that  follows  a  rider  rushes  up  and  dis- 
mounts) 

Messenger.    Where  is  the  general,  Trevino  ? 

Trev.  Here. 

Mess.    Juarez  approaches.     (Saluting) 

Trev.  Juarez !    Call  up  the  camp ! 

Light  all  the  beacons !    Juarez !    Build  up  the  fires ! 

Shouts.    Juarez!    Juarez!     Hurrah!     El  presidente! 

Trev.    We'll  let  him  know  the  hearts  he  left  i'  the 

hills 
Still  beat  with  loyal  blood ! 

Shouts.    Juarez!    Juarez!     (Enter Juarez.     Silence) 

Jua.    Trevino ! 

Trev.  Your  Excellency !      (They  embrace) 

You '  ve  heard  ? 

Jua.  I  know. 

Now  monarchy  has  spread  her  gilded  sails, 
And  from  the  East  comes  like  another  sun 
To  blind  our  eyes  with  wonder  of  a  crown 
While  shackling  us  by  hand  and  foot  to  earth. 
But  from  these  mountains  will  arise  a  queen, 
The  figure  grey  of  ancient  Liberty, 
Mourning  and  wronged,  but  with  tlie  unpalling  star 
Of  God's  own  favor  set  upon  her  brow: 
These  two  shall  meet— and  that  mock  sun  go  down ! 

Trev.    You  still  have  hope  when  Mexico  deserts  us  ? 

Jua.    Dost  read  your  country  in  the  smile  she  shows 


96  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Her  conqueror  ?    She  has  a  heart  beneath ! 

Ay,  sir,  did  she  not  prove  it  at  Puebla  ? 

Where  dead  fell  on  the  dead  with  gun  in  hand 

Still  pointed  to  the  French !    Where,  hope  once  lost, 

And  the  enemy  pouring  through  the  shattered  gates, 

Our  men  blew  up  their  city  and  themselves 

To  keep  their  souls  free  from  Napoleon ! 

These  men  have  brothers  left,  and  sons, 

And  they  are  Mexico  ! 

Soldiers.  El  presidente ! 

Liberty  and  Juarez ! 

A  soldier.     (Waving  his  sword)     We'll  be  revenged, 
Or  spill  more  blood  than  hell  can  drink ! 

Soldiers.    Down  with  the  empire!     Death  to  Maxi- 
milian ! 

Jua.    No,  not  revenge,  —  but  justice.  That's  enough. 
We've  but  to  wait — and  strike.    Yon  mists  now  spread 
Their  fair  illusion  o'er  the  eternal  mountains 
'Till't  seems  they  are  the  world,  and  the  great  hills 
Are  naught.    But  by  to-morrow's  noon-sun  see 
Their  fortunes  faded  as  a  dream  of  night, 
While  the  rock  peak  looks  up  as  if  to  say 
From  the  foundation  of  the  world  I  am ! 
So  will  this  glamour  o'er  our  godly  cause 
Pass  as  a  breath,  while  all  the  .world  shall  read 
Our  right  and  title  to  unbonded  life 
In  our  free  bosoms  founded  and  God-set ! 

A  soldier.    We  '11  die  for  freedom ! 

Jua.  Die  ?    That 's  the  one  thing 

We  can  not  do.     We  may  lie  down  in  graves, 
But  from  our  living  dust  will  spring  new  challenge 
To  make  in  noble  minds  continual  war 
Until  our  race  be  righted ! 

Trev.  Many  fly 

From  our  misfortunes.    Amaldo  and  LeVal  — 


CARLOTTA  97 

Jua.    CalPt  not   misfortune   that   teaches    us   our 

friends. 

Now  are  we  sifted  and  the  chaff  is  known ! 
.  .  .  LeVal !  .  .  .  .  But  Diaz  is  true  ? 

Trev.  On  yonder  mountain 

His  fires  make  answer  for  him. 

Jua.     (Looking  into  distance)   Forgive  me,  comrade ! 
I  know  you  true,  and  sooner  will  yon  moon 
Make  her  last  change  and  fall  than  you  change  once 

From  the  full  circle  of  a  complete  man 

(Turns  and  sees  Ignacio)     My  nephew  here  ? 

Ig.  Just  from  the  capital. 

Jua.    Where  you  must  back  again.     Rafael,  too  ! 
Both  my  young  soldiers !    My  right  arm  and  my  left,  — 
Though  which  is  which  I  know  not.     Ignacio, 
You  saw  the  Austrian  ?    No  matter.    He 's  but 
The  drift-piece  of  a  rotten  monarchy 
That  thinks  to  graft  upon  the  living  tree 
Of  our  new-sprung  republic !    We  '11  shake  him  off 
As  a  June  oak  a  spray  of  winter  wreck, 
Nor  ever  know  he  clung  upon  our  boughs ! 

Ig.    The  church  is  powerful  yet,   and  seeks  to  join 
Her  cause  with  his. 

Jua.  The  church  ?    Say  not  the  church, 

But  mockers  in  Christ's  name,  who  steal  the  land 
And  drain  its  fruitage  into  Satan's  purse, 
Keeping  the  poor  a  race  of  hopeless  slaves 
Who  worship  their  own  shackles !    O,  Ignorance, 
Thou  art  the  great  slave-master !    Thy  very  chains 
Are  vital  and  beget  themselves ;  and  he 
Who  strikes  them  seems  the  monster  of  the  earth 
To  the  poor  serf  who  thinks  it  is  himself 
That  bleeds !    The  church  be  with  our  foe,  with  us 
Be  God,  we  '11  ask  no  more.    Hear  me,  my  men ! 
The  great  republic  of  the  North  's  our  friend. 


98  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

When  her  own  war  is  done  you  '11  hear  her  speak 

To  France  in  cannon  tones  that  will  make  quake 

Napoleon  on  his  throne !    That  great  mock-god, 

Who  seeks  to  free  all  men  that  he  may  fit 

Their  necks  to  his  own  yoke !     ( With  growing  intensity) 

That  adder  who 

Would  coil  about  the  world !    That  serpent  scruffed 
With  white  deceit  and  low  ambition's  slime, 
That  crept  into  the  garden  of  my  dream 
And  cankered  bud  and  root,  nursed  by  my  toil, 
Fed  with  my  dearest  blood !    Ay,  he  will  quake, 
And  cry  for  mercy  to  a  stony  Heaven 
Whose  pity  drops  long  since  were  drained  upon 
The  woe  that  he  hath  made !    Ay,  he— 

Trev.     (Touching  him)  But  now, 

My  friend  ? 

Jua.     (Composed)    You're  right.    No  more  of  that. 
Nephew ! 

Ig.    Here,  sir! 

Jua.  Your  place  will  be  the  capital. 

We  must  have  eyes  there,  and  a  heart  to  serve  us. 
This  hour  set  out.   Here  are  instructions.    (Gives  papers) 

Trev.  Sir, 

He 's  had  no  rest. 

Jua.  True.  .  .  true.  .  . 

Ig.  And  need  none  when 

Juarez  commands. 

Jua.     (Taking  his  hand)    Thou  'rt  still  my  son.    My 

house 
Will  not  fall  down  when  I  no  longer  prop  it. 

Raf.    May  I  not  beg  this  office,  sir  ? 

Trev.  Send  him ! 

His  heart  is  in  the  hills,  and  he  '11  come  back. 
Ignacio  's  yet  unanchored.    Trust  him  not 
To  high  tides  of  a  court. 


CARLOTTA  99 

Jua.  I  trust  them  both. 

But  my  own  blood  I  know.    (To  Ig.)   Kneel  for  the  oath. 

(Ignacio  kneels.  Murmurs  around,  then  silence. 
Juarez  takes  a  crucifix  from  his  bosom  and  holds  it  over 
Ignacio) 

Jua.    By  this  true  image  of  the  bleeding  Christ, 
May  you  be  damned  to  everlasting  fire, 
Nor  prayers  of  saints  lift  up  your  soul  from  hell, 
If  you  prove  false  in  what  you  undertake 
This  night  for  Mexico ! 

Ig.  By  Christ's  own  blood, 

I  swear,  and  may  that  blood  be  powerless 
To  save  me  from  the  damned  if  I  prove  false ! 

Jua.    The  stars  that  hold 
The  witness  angels  of  the  Lord  have  heard 
Thy  oath. 

Ig.     (Rising  and  looking  up)     Let  them  record  it. 

Asef.     (Fearfully)  Ah ! 

Trev.     (Holding  out  a  brand)  The  brand ! 

Jua.    Not  that ! 

Ig.  (Baring  his  arm)  I  choose  it!  (Trevino  quickly 
brands  his  arm  with  a  cross.  Juarez,  too  late,  dashes  the 
brand  from  his  hand) 

Ig.     (Throwing  up  his  arm)    Sealed  to  the  cause ! 

(Hurries  to  go) 

Jua.  My  boy!  (Ignacio  returns  for  Juarez1  em- 
brace) 

Ig.     (Going)     Liberty  and  Juarez ! 

Soldiers.  Juarez ! 

Liberty  and  Juarez ! 

(All  but  Juarez  follow  Ignatius  out,  cheering) 
Hurrah!  hurrah! 

(Juarez  draws  his  grey  mantle  about  him  and  stands 
silent.  The  fires  die  down.  The  moon  clouds.  He  looks 
up  invoking) 


100  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Jua.    Spirit  of  Montezuma,  be  them  here 

And  on  thy  son  drop  wisdom  out  of  Heaven, 

That  these  thy  children  he  may  lead  to  peace, 

And  this  thy  country  give  again  to  him 

Who  set  his  iron  in  the  earth  and  said 

"  Man,  make  thy  weapon ;  there  shall  be  no  slaves ! " 

(CURTAIN) 


ACT  II. 


Scene  I :  Palace  of  Chapultapec.  Hall  adjoining 
ball  room.  Gaily  dressed  women,  and  men  in  glittering 
official  costumes  passing  doors.  Marquez  and  Mejia 
talking. 

Mar.    You  've  caught  Trevino ! 

Mejia.  Rafael  Mendorez  too. 

Mar.    Still  better.    You  '11  have  them  shot  at  once  ? 

Mejia.  They've  too  many  friends.  I  must  have  the 
emperor's  warrant. 

Mar.    He  will  sign  the  decree  to-night. 

Mejia.  The  Lord  be  thanked!  I'm  tired  of  risking 
life  and  men  taking  prisoners  that  his  majesty  may 
have  the  pleasure  of  pardoning  them. 

Mar.  If  he  signs  the  decree  he  will  be  sure  to  reserve 
the  right  to  pardon.  You  must  try  my  method. 

Mejia.    And  that  ? 

Mar.    Shoot  on  the  spot,  and  report  no  captures. 

(Enter  from  the  ball  room    Maximilian,    Marshal 


CARLOTTA  101 

Bazaine,  General  Miramon,  and  Count  Charles) 

Mir.    Your  majesty  will  sign  the  law  to-night  ? 

Mas.    These  men  wear  the  brave  name  of  soldiers ; 

fight 
Beneath  a  flag,  and  claim  the  rights  of  war. 

Baz.    They  borrow   war's   fair    name   to    kill  and 
plunder ! 

Max.     It  was  my  dream  when  I  took  up  this  crown 
To  claim  each  subject  of  the  land  my  own. 

Mir.    And  so  you  may,  your  majesty.    'T  is  true. 
These  men  are  subjects  to  no  law  or  nation ; 
They  are  not  Mexico's ;  they  are  not  God's ; 
But  from  the  heavenly  and  the  human  pale 
They  have  outbarred  themselves.    Our  honest  land 
Has  cast  them  out  as  venom  to  her  health ! 
Nurse  not  this  canker  in  your  realm,  my  lord ! 

Max.    I  do  not  know but  here's  my  head  and 

heart, 

(Touching  Prince  Salm-Salm  and  Count  Charles) 
And  they  may  answer.    Prince,  what  do  you  say  ? 

Prince  Salm.    As  friend  and  soldier  to  your  majesty, 
I  must  advise  the  passage  of  the  law. 

Max.    You,  Charles  ? 

Char.  My  lord,  if  as  you  say,  these  men 

Fight  'neath  a  flag,  and  for  supposed  rights, 
You  violate  the  law  of  noble  nations 
In  sentencing  to  death  the  prisoners 
Of  recognized  war. 

Baz.     (Sneering)    Sir,  recognized  ? 

Char.    Does  not  the  United  States  still  call  Juarez 
The  president  of  Mexico  ? 

Baz.  Why,  count, 

You'd  best  consult  those  books  of  yours  again! 
Juarez  has  fled  and  given  up  his  cause. 
These  men  are  robbers !    Your  majesty  will  sign  ? 


102  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Max.    Forgive  me,  friends,  if  I  again  say  no. 

Mir.    Your  majesty,  'tis  we  should  ask  your  pardon 
For  having  failed  to  lustre  as  we  should 
This  seeming-dark  decree,  — so  wise,  so  just, 
And  as  undoubtedly  your  duteous  act 
As  though  some  stern  necessity  of  the  stars 
Enjoined  it. 

Max.     (Uneasily)   Press  it  not  now.  The  people  wait. 

(All  but  Marquez  go  into  ball  room) 

Mar.    Some  fools  have  sat  on  crowns  but  not  for 

long. 

He  '11  sign.    The  Liberals  must  be  dispatched 
Fast  as  we  capture  them,  for  we've  short  time. 
The  United  States  will  soon  be  free  again 
To  turn  to  us,  and  what  we  wish  to  do 
Must  be  well  done  ere  that.    Dispatch !    Dispatch ! 
Use  Maximilian  and  the  French  to  crush 
The  Liberals,  then  with  the  church  unite 
To  pull  down  Maximilian  and  set  up  — 
Marquez!    .  .  .  The  Empress  —  and  Ignacio ! 
One  I  suspect,  — a  half-breed  full  of  pride! 
Who  'd  have  the  court  forget  his  Indian  mother 
And  bear  in  mind  his  father  was  a  noble ! 

(Goes  aside. 

Enter  Carlotta  and  Ignacio,  followed  by  Prince  and 
Princess  Zichy,  Prince  and  Princess  Salm-Salm,  Princess 
Josefa  de  Varela,  Colonel  Lopez,  making  merry  with  a 
fortune  teller.  The  Empress  steps  apart  with  Ignacio) 

Car.    Ignacio !    I  've  met  strange  looks  to-night ! 

Ig.    But  not  unkind  ones,  noble  madam  ? 

Car.  O,  such 

As  can  not  be  distinguished  by  a  word, 
Cold,  warm,  or  dark  or  fair,  bitter  or  kind ! 
Ah,  looks  that  will  not  advertise  the  heart, 
And  yet  betray  too  much ! 


CARLOTTA  103 

Ig.  Your  majesty  — 

Car.    A  little  coldness  that  might  melt  to  love, 
A  little  pity  that  might  soon  be  hate, 
A  fair  '  God  with  you '  shaping  to  a  curse  — 

Ig.    What  eye  can  harbor  evil  meeting  yours 
Where  lies  a  grace  that  turns  all  ill  to  virtue  ? 

Car.    Would  all  were  true  as  you,  Ignacio ! 

(Looks  to  ballroom  and  shudders) 
Those  eyes !    Would  I  looked  not  so  deep  in  eyes ! 
.  .  .  You  love  my  lord  ? 

Ig.  I  do,  your  majesty. 

Car.    Above  all  other  men  ?     (He  is  silent)      Nay,  do 

not  answer ! 

'T  was  wrong  to  ask,  for  you  have  kinsmen  maybe, 
Brother,  or  uncle,  some  one  dear  in  blood 
Whom  Heaven  bids  you  cherish.    But  you  will  guard 
Your  Emperor !    You  '11  watch  with  me  for  foes  ? 
For  foes  ?    He  has  none !    How  the  thought 
Blasphemes  his  excellence !    But  'tis  a  world 
Where  whitest  merit  draws  the  darkest  souls 
To  prey  upon  it,  while  mere  indifferent  good 
Escapes !    .    .    .    Ignacio,  is  it  true,  Juarez 
Is  not  in  Mexico  ? 

Ig.  O,  madam ! 

Car.  Ah! 

Is  't  true  the  Liberals  are  disbanded  ? 

Ig.  True  ? 

Car.    You  do  not  answer,  sir ! 

Ig.  It  is  not  true. 

Car.    You  know  it !    You  ?    And  they  still  hope  ? 

Ig.  They  do. 

Car.    Then  we  are  playing  with  an  enemy ! 
How  do  youknow?  .  .  .  You  traitor,  too !  .  .  O  Heaven! 
'T  is  time  now  to  be  up  or  treachery 
Will  take  us  all  asleep !     (Goes  from  him) 


104  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Ig.     (Following  her)    O  madam !    madam ! 
My  heart  is  all  your  own ! 

Car.     (Turning  to  him)     Forgive  me,  friend, 
And  I  will  wrong  no  more  these  honest  eyes. 
But  there  is  danger  here,  and  we  must  strike ! 
We  hold  a  nation's  future  in  our  hands, 
And  now  defence  is  virtue,  patience  crime! 

Ig.    Your  majesty  — 

Car.     (Not  heeding)    Shall  we  stand  here  and  smile 
Till  rebel  blows  have  shattered  life  and  throne  ? 
.  .  .  Dupin  shall  drive  these  desperate  people  back  — 
This  law  be  signed  — 

Ig.     (With  horror)    Dear  Christ! 

Car.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Ig.    Will  Maximilian  pass  a  law  of  death, 
Condemning  patriots  to  a  robber's  grave  ? 
O,  Empress,  sue  upon  your  knees  that  he 
Do  not  this  thing,  for  every  act  of  his 
Not  marked  with  justice  to  his  enemies 
Will  rob  him  of  the  pity  they  would  show 
When  victory  is  theirs !    He  writes  his  doom 
As  certainly  as  he  doth  set  his  name 
To  that  black  law,  and  gives  Dupin  his  will 
Among  our  helpless  people ! 

Princess  Zichy.     (From  group  about  the  gipsy,  as  all 
laugh)  Your  majesty, 

You  heard  ? 

Car.    I  heard.     (To  Ignacio,  much  disturbed)  Go  join 
them!    Go!     (Ignacio  joins  group)    He's  true! 
My  lord  in  danger ! 

Princess  de  Varela.    Now  mother,  my  hand  next ! 

(Gipsy  scans  her  hand) 

Car.    '  Rob  him  of  pity ! '    '  When  victory  is  theirs ! ' 
I  know  the  pity  given  to  the  fallen 
In  this  blood-drunken  land !    There's  but  one  way.  .  . 


CARLOTTA  105 

We  must  not  fall !  .  .  'T  is  war,  then,  — war!    Not  for 
An  empire,  no, — but  Maximilian's  life ! 
And  we  must  use  the  weapons  in  our  hands ! 
Gip.     (Reading) 

Days  of  brightness,  days  of  smiles, 
Read  I  here  or  Fate  beguiles ! 

Princess  S.  O  these  fortunes  are  like  lines  from  a 
fairy  book !  Surely  we  are  not  all  going  to  be  happy ! 

Gip.    I  '11  read  for  you,  madam. 

Princess  S.  But  let  not  your  change  of  song  begin 
with  me,  dark  mother ! 

Gip.     (Reading) 

Days  of  darkness,  days  of  moan ! 
A  friend  shall  sigh,  a  friend  shall  fall, 
And  wring  thy  bosom  more  than  all 
The  sorrow  that  thou  yet  hast  known  ! 

Princess  S.    O  think  better  of  it,  mother ! 
Gip.    Your  sweet  eyes  deserve  a  better  portion  than 
tears,  and  I  read  too, 

But  ere  thy  last  hour  be  nigh 
Sorrow  from  thy  breast  shall  fiy  ! 

Princess  S.  A  friend,  you  say  ?  I  thank  you,  'twas 
not  my  husband ! 

Gip.  And  yet  a  husband  he, 

And  many  tears  thou  'It  see  ! 

Car.     (Aside)    A  friend  —  a  husband  —  and  a  fall ! 
Gip.    Shall  I  read  for  her  majesty  ? 


106  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Car.    No!  no! 

Lopez.  She  has  peeped  into  Fate's  urn,  madam,  I 
assure  you ! 

Car.  Nay,  I'm  content.  What  I  choose  for  myself  I 
will  abide,  and  what  I  choose  not  is  the  gift  of  God  and 
I '11  abide  that  too! 

Prince  Zichy.  I  congratulate  you !  Majesty  is  not 
always  able  to  show  such  noble  indifference  to  the  future, 
and  lesser  mortals  —  never! 

Gip.    Please  the  stars,  may  I  read  for  you,  sir  ? 

Prince  Zichy.  I  give  you  a  proxy, — Senor  Ignacio. 
If  the  fortune  be  fair,  I  take  it,  if  not,  I  leave  it  with 
him. 

Ladies.  O,  hear  Ignacio' s  fortune!  (They  crowd 
about  him  and  the  gypsy) 

Car.  (To  Lopez)  A  favor,  sir!  Will  you  take  a 
message  to  his  majesty  ? 

Lopez.  I  am  twice  blest — to  bear  your  message  — 
and  bear  it  to  the  emperor.  (They  talk  apart) 

Gip.  Here's  a  secret  matter,  sir.  Shall  I  speak  it 
out? 

Ig.    O  spare  me !    Come  aside ! 

Ladies.    Nay,  nay,  Ignacio !  You  heard  our  fortunes! 

Ig.  But  yours  were  fair  and  innocent,  and  mine  is 
dark  and  guilty  —  maybe  with  crime ! 

Ladies.    Oh !    A  crime ! 

Ig.  Come,  witch!  (They  go  aside,  near  where 
Marquez  is  stationed  unseen)  Aseffa ! 

Asef.  Rafael  is  prisoner  at  Savarro!  Trevino  is 
taken,  too ! 

Ig.  O  Heaven!  (To  ladies)  Stay  back!  T is  crime 
indeed ! 

Ladies.    Villain! 

Asef.  Help  me  to  Maximilian !  O,  I  must  see  him ! 
You  called  him  gentle !  When  I  tell  him  what  Rafael  is — 


CARLOTTA  107 

the  fairest  soul  man  ever  called  a  foe  — 

Ig.    Softly,  Aseffa !    You  can  not  see  the  emperor  to- 
night. 

Asef.    I  must!    To-morrow  'twill  be  too  late!     He 
dies  at  sunrise ! 

Ig.    Rafael !    My  friend !  my  brother !  — 

Asef.    Quiet !  quiet !    Smile,  Ignacio !     Ha !  ha !    I  '11 
pray  it  be  not  true,  sir ! 

Ig.    But  you  can  see  Count  Charles.    He's  Maximil- 
ian's very  heart,  and  once  you  win  him  the  Emperor  is 
won.    Go  in !    Go  in !    I  '11  bring  you  to  the  count ! 
Be  light  of  heart !    Our  Rafael  is  safe  ! 

Asef.    Ignacio,  the  Empress  is  all  you  said. 
Pravers  on  their  way  to  Heaven  meeting  her 
Would  think  their  journey  ended.     Can  you  be  true  ? 

Ig.     (Touching  his  arm)     I  bear  the  seal. 

Asef.  God  help  thee ! 

Ig.  Go! 

(To  ladies)  'Tis  done  ! 
I  know  my  sins ! 

Princess  de  V.     But  what  a  smiling  sinner ! 

Princess  Salm.    A  cloud  is  hovering.    Come,  sir !    I 
shall  know  it!     (Takes  his  arm.    Mexi- 
can national  dance  begins.    All  go  into  ballroom,  the 
Empress  with  Lopez) 

Mar.  Ignacio  a  Liberal !  And  branded ! 
He 's  finished !  But  I  '11  pick  my  hour  for  it ! 
Mendorez  safe !  Ay,  if  he's  bullet-proof! 

(Re-enter  Carlotta  with  Archbishop  Labastida) 

Lab.    I    thank   your    Highness    for    this    gracious 

moment  ! 
Most  holy  Empress  — 

Car.  Not  holy,  sir,  and  yet 

I  hope  with  touch  of  God's  anointment  on  me. 

Lab.    Did  it  but  rest  with  you  His  love  would  soon 


108  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Like  cloud  of  rose  veil  Mexico  in  beauty. 

Car.    But  rest  with  me  ? 

Lab.  Ay,  noble  lady,  3'ou. 

I  bear  a  letter  from  his  Holiness, 
In  which  he  says  his  Empress  daughter's  zeal 
Is  jewelled  in  his  heart,  —  but  urges  me 
To  speak  to  Maximilian  of  his  strange 
Reluctance  to  fulfill  his  promise. 

Car.  Promise  ? 

Lab.    To  give  the  Church  the  olden  glory  that 
She  shone  with  here !    Restore  her  rights  — 

Car.  'T  is  true 

He  promised  that,  and  he  has  kept  his  Word 
As  an  account  with  God.     He  is  convinced 
The  rights  claimed  by  the  Church  are  stolen  rights 
She  wrung  from  ignorance  for  her  earthly  glory, 
And  he's  resolved 'to  maintain  Juarez'  law 
So  far  as  it  accords  with  justice. 

Lab.  Madness! 

Call  back  Juarez  to  power !    Yield  the  throne 
To  the  republican !    For  't  will  so  end 
If  Maximilian  scorns  us  and  our  help ! 

Car.    He  does  not  scorn  you,  sir,  but  seeks  to  find 
\Vhere  the  division  comes  'tween  you  and  Christ 
And  set  himself  upon  the  side  of  Heaven. 

La  b.    You  will  divorce  the  favor  of  the  pope, 
Without  whose  help  you  may  not  hope  to  stand. 
Plead  with  your  lord  again  to  probe  our  claim, 
And  find  therein  some  wise  and  prudent  reason 
To  give  us  aid,  —  and  thereby  keep  his  crown. 

Car.    Yes,  I  will  speak ;  but  I  shall  not  forget, 
Whate'er  I  say,  he  is  an  Emperor !     (Exit) 

Mar.     (Coming  forward)   A  pair  of  fools  are  jiggling 
with  a  crown. 

Lab.    You  heard,  Marquez  ? 


CARLOTTA  109 

Mar.  And  knew  before  I  heard. 

Lab.    And  you  are  patient  ? 

Mar.  Maximilian 

Means  France,    and    France  we  must   keep    ours, —  at 

least 
Till  we  have  finished  with  the  Liberals,  — 

Lab.    And  then  ? 

Mar.  We  need  not  go  so  far  to  make 

A  wiser  choice. 

Lab.     (Looking  at  him  meaningly)     Not  far  indeed ! 

Mar.  I  thank  you. 

But  that 's  hereafter.    Come  with  me,  your  grace. 
I  'd  speak  of  something  more  immediate. 

(Exeunt  left) 

(Enter  from  ballroom  General  Miramon,  Marshal 
Bazaine  and  Colonel  Dupin,  the  last  a  large,  vain,  blus- 
tering man,  gorgeously  and  expensively  arrayed  from 
head  to  foot.  A  sombrero  wonderfully  trimmed  with 
gold  and  silver  is  carried  in  his  hand  and  used  in  sweep- 
ing salutations') 

Dup.  At  last  I  am  called  to  court!  I  thought  his 
majesty  would  soon  or  late  have  need  of  my  experience 
in  throat-cutting. 

Mir.  But,  my  dear  Dupin,  it  is  not  in  your  capacity 
of  throat -cutter  that  we  introduce  you.  These  towns 
that  have  given  aid  to  the  Liberals  must  be  punished 
without  the  Emperor's  knowledge.  You  will  make  an 
example  of  them  ? 

Dup.    Will  I  ?    Hear  him,  Marshal !    Will  I  ? 

Mir.    But  not  a  word  to  the  Emperor ! 

Dup.    Softish,  eh  ? 

Mir.  His  spongy  heart  is  filled  with  water  of  com- 
passion. Touch  it  anywhere  it  pours ! 

Baz.  I'm  not  going  to  throw  away  the  lives  of  any 
more  Frenchmen  just  to  give  him  a  chance  to  play  at 


110  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

clemency!     An  emperor  should  be  a  sort  of  vitalized 
stone,  capable  of  action  but  incapable  of  impression. 

Dup.  Then  I'm  the  man  for  emperor!  I've  always 
suspected  my  qualifications  for  the  part.  By  the  lord, 
I've  made  women  who  were  hungry  enough  to  eat  their 
own  children  watch  my  soldiers  throw  bread  into  the 
sea !  And  when  JI  was  with  the  French  and  English  in 
old  Chinee— well,  they've  called  me  the  'Tigre'  since 
then.  You ' ve  heard  about  that !  (Struts  and  sings) 

I'm  the  tigre  of  the  East, 
Got  my  claws  in  old  Pekin 
When  the  yellow  kids  we  neeced 
And  held  up  the  mandarin  ! 
O  we  caught  him  by  the  queue, 

As  he  from  our  captains  new, 
That  quaking  little,  shaking  little  mandarin, 

And  -we  dragged  him  out  to  view 

By  that  most  convenient  queue, 
When  we  sacked  the  summer  palace  at  Pekin  ! 

My  friends,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  there  are  several 
dozens  of  ladies  in  the  ball  room  waiting  for  a  dance  with 
the  costume  par  excellence  of  the  evening.  I  am  not 
always  sure  of  a  welcome  for  my  face,  but  my  costume 
is  never  in  doubt.  Ah,  sweet  woman !  you  can  please  me 
twice.  I  can  dance  with  you — and  I  can  kill  you !  When 
the  Emperor  asks  for  me  I  shall  not  decline  an  introduc- 
tion,—though  he  was  not  born  an  emperor  and  I  was 
born  Dupin !  (Exit) 

Bas.    Is  he  as  villainous  as  his  conversation  ? 

Mir.  His  talk  is  but  the  mildest  prologue  to  his 
deeds. 

Baz.  Then  he's  the  man  for  us.  We  shall  never 
drive  back  the  Liberals  but  by  methods  of  unmitigated 
severity. 


CARLOTTA  111 

Mir.  There  is  no  barbarity  too  great  for  the  intimi- 
dation of  these  towns. 

Baz.  The  only  absolutely  safe  plan  is  to  raze  them 
from  the  earth. 

Mir.  Trust  Dupin!  (They  go  into  ballroom. 
Enter,  right,  Count  Charles  and  Aseffa.  Her  disguise  is 
thrown  back  revealing  her  beauty) 

Asef.    You  help  me  though  a  Liberal  and  your  foe ! 

Char.    A  foe !  Dear  lady,  when  you  besought  my  aid 
Methought  it  was  divinity  that  spoke, 
So  sacred  sweet  seemed  the  request.    I  '11  save 
Your  brother. 

Asef.  Ah,  dearer  than  a  brother,  sir 

It  is  my  husband ! 

Char.  Husband! 

Asef.  Yes,  my  lord. 

And  dearer  than  —  You  have  a  wife  ? 

Char.  No,  lady. 

Asef.    O,  then  you  can  not  know!     But  you  have 
loved  ? 

Char.    I  love. 

Asef.  A  lover  — not  a  husband.    Ah! 

Add  to  thy  love  a  thousand  dearer  loves 
And  take  their  sum  a  thousand  times  a  thousand, 
'Twill  be  the  smallest  part  divisible 
Of  my  dear  love  for  Rafael !    You  '11  save  him  ? 

Char.    Yes  —  I  will  save  him.    Do  you  trust  me  ? 

Asef.  Trust  you  ? 

As  I  would  Heaven !     ( Kisses  his  hands  and  goes  out, 
right) 

Char.  Gone!    Aseffa!    Gone? 

No,  never  gone !    Her  kisses  here !    O  lips 
That  swept  like  drifting  roses  o'er  my  hands  — 
Both  hands,  —  sweet  equity !    Still  are  they  warm 
As  they  were  dipped  in  summer,  though  her  touch 


112  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Was  maiden  light  nor  robbed  him  of  a  jot 

Who  should  have  all.    Her  husband  —  'twas  a  word 

She  used  to  slay  me  with !  .  .  .  .  Even  in  sorrow 

She  is  more  fair  than  any  other  fair 

Met  on  a  holiday.     But  when  she  smiled 

She  seemed  like  Fortune  giving  away  a  world, 

So  gracious  was  her  splendor.    Thou  art  revenged, 

O  little  demon  god  so  long  my  scorn ! 

Would  I  had  given  my  heart  by  piecemeal  out 

Since  I  was  ten  than  to  have  lost  it  so, 

For  going  all  at  once  it  takes  my  life 

And  I  must  lose  my  life  or  follow  it. 

Ah,  love  should  come  like  waves  unto  a  shore, 

Soft  creeeping  up  and  back  and  up  again. 

Till  taught  to  stand  receptive  we  are  firm 

When  the  last,  highest  wave  envelops  us. 

....  May  God  restore  me !  .  .  .  O  her  beauty  burns 

As  she  were  limned  by  lightning  on  the  night ! 

Her  eyes  are  torches  that  Eternity 

Lends  life  to  read  her  dreams !    Her  cheek 

Is  June  within  a  bud !    Her  veins  have  caught 

The  falling  sun  that  in  them  strives  to  rise 

To  a  new  dawn !  .  .  And  I  must  save  him — save  him ! 

This  unknown  man  that  holds  the  flaming  sword 

Above  my  paradise ! If  this  decree 

Is  signed  she  will  be  widowed.  .  .   (Stops  in  horror) 

I  am  mad !  .  .  . 

.  .  .  She  will  be  free.  .  .  Away,  sweet  hell,  whose  face 
Is  masked  like  heaven !  .  .  Let  solid  earth  be  air, 
The  air  be  lead,  light  change  to  dark,  and  dark 
Be  as  the  sun,  't  will  be  no  miracle 
When  murder  finds  a  welcome  in  my  heart ! 

(Enter    Maximilian,     Bazaine,     Miramon,     Dupin, 
Berzabal,  Ruiz,  Estrada,  Ignacio) 

Max.     (To  Dupin)      We're   glad  to    welcome  you. 


CARLOTTA  113 

'T  will  be  your  charge  to  guard  the  unprotected  towns 
now  suffering  from  the  raids  of  Liberals. 

Mir.  Of  men,  your  majesty,  who  steal  that  title  to 
grace  a  brigand's  life ! 

Max.    So  we  're  assured. 

Dap.  I  '11  see  to  it,  sir,  that  these  towns  play  no  love- 
tricks  with  the  enemy ! 

Baz.    Sh! 

Max.  No  danger  that  way.  Your  duty  is  to  protect 
them! 

Dup.  No  offense,  I  hope.  But  treason  is  a  lively 
beast  and  hard  to  keep  low.  As  your  majesty's  officer  I 
must  cudgel  it  down  wherever  I  find  it. 

Max.    If  unhappily  you  find  it,  sir  — 

Dup.     I  '11  cut  the  throat  of  every  man  dog  of  'em ! 

Max.  Sir?  (Turns  to  Bazaine)  The  Colonel's 
speech  is  very  figurative,  good  Marshal.  (To  Dupin)  All 
instances  of  treason,  (and  God  forbid  there  should 
be  one !)  will  be  reported  to  me  for  careful  investiga- 
tion. 

Dup.  A  thousand  pardons,  your  Highness  !  I  was 
swept  away  by  my  devotion  to  your  majesty !  I  shall 
remember  that  you  wish  me  to  observe  the  mildest  tem- 
perance in  dealing  with  your  majesty's  enemies.  (As  the 
emperor  looks  questioningly  at  Bazaine,  Dupin  snarls, 
then  repeats  suavely)  The  mildest  temperance  in  dealing 
with  your  majesty's  enemies. 

Max.  That  is  our  wish.  The  mildest  temperance. 
And  this  decree,  Colonel  Dupin  ?  Would  you  advise  its 
passage  ? 

Dup.  I  should  be  so  hot  to  sign  it,  sir,  my  zeal  would 
boil  the  ink  in  the  bottle ! 

Max.  Very  figurative,  Marshal!  (To  Dupin)  As 
yet  we  have  not  reconciled  the  matter  with  our  con- 
science. 


114  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

(Lopez  enters  and  comes  up  to  the  Emperor) 

Lop.  (Handing- him  a  slip  of  paper)  Your  majesty, 
the  Empress  sends  you  this. 

(Maximilian  reads  aside : )    '  Sign  the  decree.' 

Max.     (Aside)    What  has  she  heard  ? 

Dup.  (At  a  distance,  in  rear  of  Maximilian,  folds  his 
hands  meekly  on  his  breast  and  whistles  softly) 

'When  we  sacked  the  summer  palace  at  Pekin!' 
(Mimics)  '  As  yet  we  have  not  reconciled  the  matter 
with  our  conscience.'  Does  he  think  he  can  govern 
Mexico  with  a  prayer-book  ?  Put  him  in  his  cradle  and 
sing  by-lo-baby ! 

Max.  (To  Miramon,  who  has  spoken  to  him) 
There's  only  one  left  to  oppose  it— Charles. 

Mir.    My  lord,  you  'd  set  a  scholar's  word  against 
A  general's  in  matters  of  the  field  ? 
The  count's  opinion,  born  within  a  closet, 
Would  die  in  open  air  but  for  your  nursing. 

Max.    Come,  Count,  defend  your  cause. 

Char.  My  cause, 

my  lord  ? 

Max.    You  are  but  one  against  the  government. 
Canst  talk  above  so  big  a  head  ?    If  not, 
I  fear  we  '11  pass  this  law  of  blood.    Come,  come ! 
Be  eloquent !    My  heart  would  have  you  win ! 

Char.     (Very  pale  and  hesitating)    Your  majesty  — 
I  beg- 

Max.  Goes  it  so  deep 

To  your  good  heart  ? 

Mir.  My  lord  — 

Max.  Forgive  me,  Charles, 

For  pressing  you  so  much.    We  '11  rest  to-night. 
To-morrow  there'll  be  time. 

Char.     (Hastily)    No !    Not  to-morrow ! 
Sign  the  decree !    Sign  it  to-night ! 


CARLOTTA  115 

(Maximilian  looks  with  the  greatest  astonishment  at 
his  now  flushed  face  and  eager  manner,  then  thinks  he 
understands) 

Max.  Ah,  Charles, 

This  tender  heart  of  yours  will  kill  you  yet. 
No  more  of  this.    I  '11  keep  you  at  your  books. 

Char.     (Recovering;    proceeds    with  suavity,    com- 
pletely sold  to  his  desire) 

My  mind  has  cleared  with  deeper  thought,  my  lord, 
Discord,  the  ancients  tell  us,  was  at  first 
So  small  a  gnat  did  give  her  birth,  but  grew 
So  great  her  feet  o'erturned  proud  cities  while 
Her  head  upset  the  gods  in  council.    So  this 
Small  trouble  may  o'ercast  your  destiny  — 
And  is  't  not  better,  sir,  to  pass  a  law, 
However  dreaded,  'gainst  the  rebel  few 
Than  that  the  nation  trusted  to  your  care 
Should  be  broad  cursed  with  civil  slaughter  ? 

Max.  Better  ? 

If  such  a  danger  threatens  'tis  a  crime 
Not  to  forfend  it ! 

(Enter  Marquez  and  Archbishop  Labastida) 

Lab.    Gracious  sovereign ! 

Max.    Most  reverend  father,  you  would  counsel  us  ? 

Lab.    We  would,  your  majesty.    If  yet  the  wish 
Of  Heaven  has  power  over  you ;  and  Christ 
Be  your  most  high  example,  you  will  prove 
A  careful  guardian  to  your  trusting  people, 
And  crush  this  villainous  and  robber  race 
Now  preying  on  the  true  and  innocent, 
Swelling  each  day  more  poisonous  and  foul ! 

Max.    We  are  decided.    Are  we  not,  good  Charles  ? 

Mar.     (Hastily)    Nay,  sire— 

Max.  We  are  decided  —  to  pass  this  law. 

Convinced  that  'tis  the  honest  course. 


116  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

(All  surprised  and  relieved  bat  Ignacio,  who  starts 
with  horror) 

Ig.    My  God ! 

Mir.  Blest  majesty,  we  thank  you ! 

Lab.  You  do  but  set 

Your  name  where  Heaven's  seal  already  shines. 

Ig.     The  seal  of  Hell !    O  noblest  man  that  breathes 
This  corrupt  air,  take  back  that  word  of  death 
Ere  it  is  stamped  in  black  upon  your  soul ! 

Mir.     (After  a  silence)   An  Aztec,  sire,  and  nephew  to 
Juarez. 

Max.    You  think  that  is  a  sin  ?    Among  our  friends 
Are  many  whose  nearest  kinsmen  nobly  served 
The  lost  Republic.    Hear  us,  Ignacio. 
This  law  is  subject  to  a  firm  condition  ; 
Each  officer  shall  make  report  to  us, 
And  every  captive  who  deserves  not  death 
Shall  have  our  pardon. 

Ig.    Then,  you  '11  pardon  two 
Now  at  Savarro,  Trevino  and  Mendorez, 
Both  doomed  to  die  at  sunrise ! 

Mir.  Ravagers!  . 

Brigands !    Ay,  murderers ! 

Ig.  No  !    Patriots  ! 

Soldiers !    And  martyrs  if  they  die  !     My  lord, 
If  they  have  plundered,  'twas  to  feed  an  army  ; 
If  they  have  killed,  —  that  is  the  aim  of  war. 
They  are  your  foes,  but  noble  ones,  — and  men, 
Not  creatures  to  be  caught  in  traps  and  shot 
Like  beasts ! 

Max.          We'll  look  to  this.    Marquez,  at  once 
Send  a  dispatch  commanding  they  be  held 
As  prisoners  of  war  until  we  've  time 
To  examine  them. 

Mar.  I  will,  your  majesty. 


CARLOTTA  117 

Ig.    M)-  lord,  at  Callovalla  when  the  French 
Had  routed  the  Republicans,  there  came 
At  night  some  student  priests  into  the  field 
To  help  the  wounded  and  to  cheer  the  dying. 
This  man,  Marquez,  set  on  them  with  his  troop 
And  made  them  prisoners.     The  morning  sun 
Beheld  each  saintly  minister  shot  dead. 
And  you  would  trust  this  devil  with  the  life 
Of  captive  foes  ?    A  man  whose  hands  are  red 
With  God's  own  blood  ? 

Mar.  He  lies !    Your  majesty, 

I  '11  prove  him  traitor  to  your  very  eyes ! 

Ig.    Traitor  ? 

Mar.  Ay,  sir,  and  spy !    Lay  bare  his  arm, 

And  see  the  branded  cross !  —  the  sacred  mark 
Of  those  who've  sworn  to  die  in  Juarez'  cause! 

(Snatches  at  Ignacio' s  arm  as  if  he  would  expose  it) 

Ig.    Liar  and  devil !  do  not  touch  me ! 

Mar.  Spy ! 

Lop.    The  proof  is  easy,  sire.    Expose  his  arm ! 

Ig.    I  scorn  such  proof!     And  with  my  sword  I  '11 

meet 
Who  dares  lay  hand  upon  me ! 

Lab.  Justice,  sire ! 

Command  him  to  lay  bare  his  arm! 

(Silence.  Maximilian  approaches  Ignacio  slowly  and 
lays  his  hand  on  his  arm) 

Max.     (Turning    to    Marquez,    his    hand    still    on 
Ignacio)    You  are  a  soldier,  able  and  honorable. 
I  trust  you  with  my  captives.     .     .    Ignacio, 
You  are  no  traitor,  —  and  I  trust  you  with 
My  confidence.    Both  are  deceived.    'TisI 
Must  study  how  to  heal  this  sad  division. 
.  .  But  now,  we  '11  sign  this  necessary  law. 
Come  in  with  me.  my  friends.      (Exeunt  all  but  Ignacio) 


118  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Ig.  Too  noble  soul ! 

Too  gentle  heart !    O  foul,  most  foul  betrayal ! 
He  dooms  himself.    O,  Maximilian, 
We  go  on  different  ways,  but  each  to  death ! 
The  truest  heart  about  thee  is  my  own, 
And  I  'm  a  spy  —  death- vowed  to  be  tin'  foe ! 
I  '11  warn  the  empress !  .  .  .  No.    Sealed  to  the  cause. 
Dead  I  may  guard  her.    Death  alone  may  give 
Me  to  her  service.    There 's  no  oath  can  bind 
The  disembodied  spirit.     (Takes  paper  from  his  pocket) 

Here 's  set  down 
All  I  have  learned  of  the  Imperial  plans. 

(Burns  paper  in  candle  frame) 
'Tis  fixed  in  memory,  and  if  I  live 
Juarez  shall  hear  it  all,  —  and  —  if  I  die  — 
The  grave  is  asked  no  questions.     (Suddenly)     Rafael ! 
This  signed  to-night,  to-morrow  Rafael  dies. 
Marquez  will  cut  off  all  reprieve.    One  way 
Is  left.  .  .  I  '11  go.    With  life  already  lost 
Who  would  not  fling  the  corpse  to  save  a  friend  ? 
My  honor 's  bound  to  freedom  and  Juarez, 
My  heart  bound  to  the  Empress  and  her  lord. 
O,  love,  while  I  have  life  thou  must  command  me, 
Then  to  save  honor.  .  .  let  me  die !  .   .  .  Ah,  could 
I  save  thee  too,  Carlotta !    O,  what  woe 
Awaits  thy  heart,  madonna,  saint.  .  .  .  and  love ! 
Might  I  but  say  farewell  before  I  go, 
Then  I  could  spur  to  death  with  happy  heart, 
And  I  must  travel  fast  to  reach  Savarro. 

(Takes  a  lady's  glove  from  his  bosom)   My  treasure, 
come! 

(Enter  Carlotta) 

Car.    It    must    be     signed.   .  .  it    must.   .   .    (Sees 
Ignacio) 

Ig.    O,  little  finger  casements,  do  you  mourn 


CARLOTTA  119 

Your  pretty  tenants  lost?  —  five  rose-sweet  nuns 
That  pray  at  one  white  shrine !     (Kisses  glove) 

Car.     (Advancing)    I  hope,  my  friend, 
She 's  worthy  of  your  noble  love. 

Ig.  O,  madam, 

In  her  doth  Heaven  on  earth  make  sweet  beginning, 
And  aspirations  tend  her  from  the  skies. 

Car.    And  she  is  beautiful  as  good  ? 

Ig.  O,  fair 

As  olden  marble  walking  down  to  us. 
Or  that  immortal  Helen  on  whose  lip 
Poets  still  feed  the  dream  that 's  never  fed ! 

Car.    She  must  be  fair  indeed.     I  hope  she  loves 
As  much  as  she 's  beloved. 

Ig.  Nay,  she  dreams  not 

Of  my  poor  worship. 

Car.  You  must  tell  her,  sir. 

7^.    With  her  I  have  no  tongue,  and  can  not  woo. 
To  see  her  is  to  think  in  hurrying  dreams 
That  move  about  some  new  desire  of  God. 
Nay,  she's  the  picture  finished,  vision  complete, 
That  perfect  stands  where  dream  no  farther  goes 
And  shuts  the  gates  to  prophecy ! 

Car.  Would  you 

But  woo  her  thus  you'd  win  her,  never  fear! 
We  women  would  be  beautiful,  and  love 
The  tongue  that  makes  us  so.    Go,  talk  to  her 
As  you  have  talked  to  me. 

Ig.  'T  is  not  the  same. 

There 's  something  in  your  smile  inviteth  speech. 
Were  she  but  you  then  would  I  kneel  and  say,  (kneels) 
O  rest  me  'neath  the  heaven  of  your  eye 
That  gathers  blessings  as  the  sun  his  dews 
To  give  again  to  earth,  and  let  your  heart 
Throb  once  with  pity  sweeter  than  the  love 


120  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

That  other  women  give,  and  yet  be  dumb, 

That  this  sweet  moment's  balm  may  wrap  my  heart 

Till  death  bids  it  be  still.    O,  love  me  not, 

But  on  my  head  lay  thy  madonna  hand, 

And  bless  me  as  a  mother  would  her  child 

Who  goes  to  death  in  going  from  her  eyes ! 

Car.     (Laying-  her  hand  on  his  head) 
And  I  will  bless  thee,  too,  as  she  would  do, 
True  knight  of  love,  gentle  Ignacio ! 
And  yet  I  hope  you  will  ask  more  of  her, 
And  she  will  grant  it. 

Ig.     (Rising)  More  is  too  much.    Farewell. 

I  leave  the  court  to-night,  —  but  go  content,  — 
Ay,  happy !     (Exit) 

Car.    He   leaves    the   court!  .  .  .  What    a    strange 

youth ! 

But  very  true  and  noble,  and  well  deserves 
The  fairest  woman's  love.     (Picks  tip  glove  dropped  by 
Ignacio)     He 's  lost  her  glove. 
I  '11  send  it  after  him.     (Calls  attendant)    Andorro  !  .  . 

Ah! 
It  is  my  own!    Yes.  .  yes.  .  the  same.  .  .  here  is  — 

My  own  indeed ! And  that  is  why  he  leaves 

The  court!    .  .  Poor  youth!     (She  drops  glove.    Enter 

Andorro)     Ignacio  just  passed  out. 
He  dropped  this  glove.    His  lady's  favor  maybe. 
I  'm  sure  'tis  prized.    Haste,  take  it  after  him. 

And.     (Picks     up    glove)      Your     pleasure,     royal 
madam !     (Going) 

Car.  No  — that  way. 

(Exit  Andorro) 
Unhappy  boy!  .  .  .   I'm  glad  I  sent  the  glove. 

(Enter  Maximilian  and  ministers) 

Car.     (Going  to   him  and  taking  his   arm)      'Tis 
signed  ? 


CARLOTTA  121 

Max.  'T  is  signed,  my  love.    Come, 

friends!    This  act 

Of  wisdom  passed  gives  me  a  lighter  heart ! 
(All  but  Marquez  go  into  ballroom) 
Mar.    The  great  death-warrant's  signed.     Ere  its 

black  list 
Be  full,  there  '11  be  an  emperor  on  the  roll ! 

(National  music.    Dancers  seen  through  doors,  the 
emperor  and  empress  among-  them) 

(CURTAIN) 


ACT  III. 


Scene  I.  Before  the  Imperial  Theatre.  Brilliant 
lights.  Crowd  confusedly  assembled.  All  talking. 

Shouts.    Long  live  the  Empire ! 

Citizen.  O  you  mob,  you  puppet  throat,  that 
whistles  as  you  're  squeezed ! 

A  Mob  Orator.  My  friends,  to-day  we  gloriously 
celebrate  the  birthday  of  the  most  glorious  empire  — 

Cit.    Long  live  the  Republic !    Hail  to  Juarez ! 

Voices.  To  dungeon  with  him !  The  traitor !  Tear 
him  to  pieces ! 

(Guards  dash  upon  citizen  and  drag  him  off) 

1st  Officer.  Don't  tell  me  the  Republic  is  dead  when 
a  man  is  willing  to  die  just  to  give  one  shout  for  it. 

2d  Officer.  Three-fourths  of  the  Mexicans  have 
hearts  of  that  color.  But  the  Empire  stands.  Miramon 
is  a  miracle.  How  does  he  manage  it  ? 

1st  Off.     He  understands  the    use  of  the  bayonet. 


122  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

As  our  friend  over  the  water  says,  you  can  do  anything 
with  bayonets  but  sit  on  them. 

2d  Off.  Isn't  this  a  rabble  ?  Motley's  the  only  wear 
in  Maximilian's  court.  He  might  succeed  in  running  this 
country  if  so  many  people  hadn't  come  along  to  help 
him  do  it.  You  ask  a  French  question  and  you  get  a 
Dutch  answer.  You  give  an  order  in  Prussian  and  it's 
obeyed  in  Irish,  — 

Voices.  He  comes !  Make  way !  Make  way !  Hail 
to  Maximilian ! 

Chief  Guard.  Back,  all  of  you !  The  Emperor  will 
greet  you  yonder!  We've  orders  to  clear  the  plaza! 
Back !  Back  !  His  carriage  stops !  Go,  get  your  places ! 
Out!  out! 

(Guards  drive  mob  out) 

1st  Guard.  If  all  the  Empire's  birthdays  are  to  be 
like  this  I  hope  it  will  never  come  of  age.  It's  work,  I 
tell  you  !  I'm  dripping  like  a  squeezed  cloud ! 

2d  Guard.  If  it  had  pleased  the  Empire  to  spend  a 
little  of  the  money  it  has  wasted  to-day  for  the  widows 
and  orphans  it  has  made  — 

1st  Guard.  Sh !  We  're  paid  for  our  muscle,  not  our 
opinions.  (Shouts  outside) 

2d  Guard.    And  the  mob  is  paid  for  its  lungs  ! 

1st  Guard.    Yes.    Miramon  sees  to  that. 

2d  Guard.  Only  the  Emperor's  carriage  approaches 
the  door  ? 

1st  Guard.    None  but  his. 

2d  Guard.  If  I  were  he  I  would  n't  make  such  a 
glittering  show  of  myself  in  that  Milan  carriage  —  all 
gold  and  silver  and  tortoise  shell,  and  an  angel  at  every 
corner  —  while  there  are  so  many  hearts  breaking  in 
sound  of  it. 

1st  Guard.  Ph !  He  knows  nothing  of  the  breaking 
hearts !  Miramon  sees  to  that. 


CARLOTTA  123 

2d  Guard.  He  '11  have  to  know  soon,  or  Juarez  will 
tell  him  in  the  capital. 

1st  Guard.  Not  a  word !  On  your  life !  (Shouts 
without)  Here  they  are!  By  Jesu!  The  fools  have 
have  taken  the  mules  from  the  carriage  and  draw  it 
themselves!  Now  I  wonder  how  much  a  head  Miramon 
pays  for  that ! 

(Enter  rabble  of  shouting  citizens  drawing  carriage 
in  which  sit  the  Emperor  and  Empress.  They  are  fol- 
lowed by  a  brilliant  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
General  and  Madam  Miramon,  Princess  de  Varela, 
Prince  and  Princess  Zichy,  Prince  and  Princess  Salm- 
Salm,  Lopez,  Count  Charles,  Marquez,  Archbishop 
Labastida,  Estrada,  Berzabal,  and  others) 

Max.     (To  citizens)     My  friends,  though  I  protest 

against  this  honor, 

I  thank  you  from  my  heart  for  such  kind  proof 
Of  your  affection.     (Alights) 

Voices.  Long  live  Maximilian  ! 

One  of  the  rabble,  awkward  and  ignorant.  Long 
live  the  President  of  the  Empire ! 

Max.  (Smiling)  I've  no  objection  to  that  title, 
friend,  but  I  fear  it  would  be  criticised  in  Europe. 

(Crowd  passes  out  shouting  and  dragging  carriage) 

Max.  (To  Carlotta,  as  he  looks  at  theatre)  A 
noble  building !  Fair  and  magnificent ! 

Car.  How  yonder  gardens  gleam  beneath  the  lights 
Like  some  soft  dream  of  worlds  we  do  not  know! 

Max.    And  all  is  yours,  my  sweet, — all  planned  by  you! 
O  love,  you  shall  be  mistress  of  a  land 
The  fairest  ever  smiled  up  to  the  sun ! 
What  say  you,  Charles  ?    Does  not  this  hour  repay 
Even  the  sacrifices  of  Miramar  ? 

Car.     (Smiling)     Nay,  he  longs  still  for  the  old  nooks 
and  books. 


124  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Char.    Let  rne  admit  it.    This  mistress  Pleasure,  sir, 
Though  she  is  fair  is  not  so  wondrous  fair 
As  goddess  Knowledge.     Beautiful  as  bride 
To  her  lord's  eye  is  she  to  worshippers, 
Who  seek  and  woo  her  till  she  yieldeth  up 
Her  locked  virginity— the  Truth! 

Max.     (Affectionately)  Ay,  Charles, 

Get  knowledge  if  thou  canst,  and  yet  despair  not, 
For  none  so  poor  but  virtue  may  be  his ; 
And  though  your  knowledge  is  earth's  silver  key 
That  opens  man's  and  nature's  heart, 
'Tis  golden  virtue  opens  Heaven  and  shows 
The  God  among  his  stars.    .   .   But,  come,  dear  friends ! 
Pleasure  is  a  true  goddess  too.    We'll  show 
Her  fair  respect.     (All  go  into  theatre  but  Charles,  who 
drops  back  unnoticed) 

Char.  He  constantly  unmasks  me 

And  knows  it  not.    Knowledge!    'Tis  withered  leaves 
Amid  a  world  of  dewy  boughs !    Knowledge ! 
To  one  school  will  I  go  —  one  book  I'll  read, 
The  school  of  love,  the  page  of  woman's  eye, 
And  I'll  know  more  chan  sages  and  divines 
Who  study  stars  and  Scripture !  .  .  . 
'  For  none  so  poor  but  virtue  may  be  his ' 

0  noble  soul,  had  I  been  true  to  thee 

1  now  could  open  thy  deceived  eyes. 
Crime  seals  my  lips.    I  can  but  pray 

This  empire  built  on  blood  may  stand.     We  are 
The  creatures  of  our  deeds,  more  bound  to  them 
Than  slave  to  master,  for  the  terms  of  service 
Are  fast  indentured  in  the  soul  and  know 
Norazure!  ....  But  I  will  find  Aseffa !    Then, 
Though  sin  should  set  a  darkness  on  my  life 
To  draw  each  night  out  to  a  winter's  length 
That  constant  storms  from  sallow  leaf  to  green, 


CARLOTTA  125 

Still  love's  sweet  lamp  shall  light  me  !    In  my  heart 
'Twill  be  as  day! 

(Enter  Aseffa  veiled,  her  dress  covered  with  a  black 
cloak.  An  attendant  following.  She  tries  to  cross  over 
to  side  entrance  of  theatre.  A  guard  stops  her) 

Asef.  I  am  a  singer. 

Guard.  Show 

Your  pass. 

Asef.    Here,  sir. 

(Guard  signs  for  her  to  pass  on.  She  sees  Charles 
and  stops.  Steps  before  him,  throwing-  back  her  veil) 

Asef.  You  swore  to  save  him ! 

Char.  You! 

Aseffa!    Blest  — 

Asef.  You  swore  it ! 

Char.  And  would  have  died 

To  keep  my  oath  could  I  have  kept  it  dying. 

Asef.    The  Emperor  refused  y  ou  ?   (He  bows  his  head) 
Demon !    Oh ! 

(Turns  to  go,  moaning) 

Char.     (Aside)   I  lose  her !  .  .  Stay !  Is  there  no  hope 
for  grief  ? 

Asef.    Not  mine !    Can  you  not  read  it  here  ? 

Char.  Too  well. 

Thy  sorrow  is  a  veil  through  which  thy  beauty 
Burns  like  a  shrouded  sun. 

Asef.  You  pity  me  ? 

Char.    As  Heaven  knows ! 

Asef.  Then  you  will  help  me,  sir  ? 

Char.    I'll  give  my  life  to  do  it ! 

Asef.  Ah,  you  will  ? 

Then  get  me  access  to  the  Emperor. 

Char.    O  sweet  Aseffa,  you  ask  a  miracle, 
And  I  am  sadly  mortal. 

Asef.  I  knew !    I  knew ! 


126  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER   PLAYS 

My  misery  is  your  plaything ! 

Char.  His  ministers 

So  hedge  him  with  their  care  — 

Asef.  O  spare  excuse ! 

But  I  shall  see  him,  sir !    Ay,  face  to  face ! 

Char.    Why  would  you  see  him  ?    He  can  not  call  the 
dead. 

Asef.    The  dead !  Thou  hast  but  daggers  for  me !  Ah ! 

Char.    Aseffa— 

Asef.  Yes,  I'll  see  him!    What  think  you  ? 

Should  I  go  shouting  '  murderer '  through  that  hall, 
Would  he  arise  and  answer  to  his  name  ? 

Char     You  're  mad,  Aseffa ! 

Asef.  Thank  Heaven,  1  am !    'T  would  be 

The  shame  of  woman  to  know  all  that  I  know 
And  not  be  mad ! 

Char.    You  must  not  go  in  there. 

Asef.     (Fiercely)     Must  not !     (Suddenly  calm) 
Nay,  sir !    Why  see,  I  go  to  sing 
A  welcome  to  the  noble  Emperor.     (Throws  back  her 

cloak) 

As  this  dark  cloak  now  hides  my  gay  apparel,    . 
So  shall  my  gay  demeanor  hide  my  woe. 

Char.    You  would  not  harm  the  Emperor  ? 

Asef.  No  need  ! 

Yon  moon  is  worshipped  for  her  borrowed  gold, 
Though  charred  and  cold  without  a  leaf  to  dower 
Her  black  sterility.    So  Maximilian. 
Napoleon's  favor  is  the  sun  that  gilds 
His  worthless  crown.     But  now  the  French  are  going — 

Char.    What  ? 

Asef.  Ah !    The  French  are  going. 

Char.  No ! 

Asef.    And  Maximilian  shall  fade  to  air, 
Unheeded  as  the  moon  no  eve  could  find 


CARLOTTA  127 

Without  her  sun ! 

Char.  But  hearts  can  live  and  love 

Though  Maximilian  falls. 

Asef.  Can  live — and  love ! 

You  torture  me ! 

Char.  Forgive  me.     But  the  share 

Must  rip  the  glebe  before  the  corn  may  spring. 

Asef.    What  do  you  mean,  cold  Austrian  ? 

Char.  Austrian !    No ! 

Your  southern  sun  has  poured  into  my  veins 
A  life  that  makes  me  new !    I  feel  as  you 
Those  throbs  that  shake  the  stars  until  they  fall 
Into  the  heart  and  make  it  heaven !     My  lips 
Can  move  toward  lips  as  haste  rose-gloried  clouds 
To  swoon  into  the  sun ! 

Asef.  Ah,  yes  —  I  know  — 

You  told  me  that  you  loved.    But  why  say  this 
To  one  who  has  lost  all  ? 

Char.  I  'd  have  you  learn 

That  you  must  live,  Aseffa,  and  life  for  3'ou 
Means  love.  Your  eyes,  your  lips,  your  hands,  your  hair, 
Like  coile'd  sweetness  of  the  night,  and  all 
Your  swaying,  melting  body,  gather  love 
As  roses  gather  smiles,  as  waves  draw  down 
The  heart-flood  of  the  moon  and  hold  it  deep 
And  trembling. 

Asef.  Sir,  your  roses,  waves,  and  smiles, 

Are  poet-nothings.    You  play  with  them  as  shells, 
Stirring  chance  colors  for  an  idle  eye. 
It  is  your  way  of  saying,  is  it  not, 
That  I  shall  love  again  ? 

Char.  You  must !  you  must ! 

Asef.    Such  words  are  like  bright  raindrops  falling  in 
A  n  other  world.    They  glitter,  but  I  hear 
No  sound,  grief  has  so  closed  my  ears.    Take  back 


-  128  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Your  comfort.    You  would  be  kind,  but  noble  count, 

You  talk  of  what  a  man  can  never  know,  — 

A  woman's  sorrow  for  a  husband  loved. 

So  high  no  height  can  reach  it,  so  great  and  deep 

The  sea  can  not  embrace  it,  and  yet  her  heart 

Can  hold  it  all.     O  strangest  of  all  love, 

That  makes  her  rather  stoop  in  beggar  rags 

To  kiss  the  happy  dust  where  his  foot  pressed 

Than  from  a  throne  lean  down  to  give  her  lips 

Unto  a  kneeling  king ! 

Char.  Aseffa,  grief 

Is  not  for  you.    You  must — you  must  be  happy ! 
The  shy  and  tender  Dawn  creeps  up  in  fear 
That  Night  has  laid  some  blight  upon  the  world, 
But  finding  all  is  well,  steps  forth,  and  lo ! 
Out  of  her  courage  the  great  sun  is  born. 
So  doth  the  heart  look  outward  after  grief 
To  find  the  world  all  dark,  but  nay,  the  light 
Is  more  of  heaven  than  it  was  before, 
Because  a  face  is  shining  from  the  clouds. 
You  dim  your  loved  one's  eyes  in  paradise 
With  your  earth- tears.  He  mourns  your  splendor  paled, 
Though  't  must  be  beautiful  to  the  last  tint, 
As  sunset  clouds  that  bear  the  heart  of  day 
Into  the  night. 

Asef.  You  but  offend  my  grief. 

Sir,  keep  your  flattery  for  her  you  love ! 

Char.    I  flatter  thee  ?    It  is  not  possible ! 
Who  dares  to  add  fire  to  the  sun,  or  bring 
The  Spring  a  flower  ?    Be  angry  if  you  will. 
The  morning's  eye  is  not  more  glorious 
Rising  above  a  storm !    I  flatter  thee ! 
When  but  to  praise  thee  as  thou  art  would  put 
A  blush  on  Poesy  that  ne'er  has  rhymed 
As  I  would  speak !    E'en  thy  defects  would  make 


CARLOTTA  129 

Another  fair,  and  were  they  merchantable 
Women  would  buy  thy  faults  to  adorn  themselves ! 
O,  sweet  — 

Asef.     (Shrinking  in  horror)    What  do  you  mean  ? 

Char.     (Seizing  her  hands)  You  know ! 

O,  all  my  life  has  been  but  dreams  of  you, 
And  when  I  saw  you  first,  my  love !  — my  love !  — 
As  lightning  makes  the  midnight  landscape  speak 
The  language  of  the  day,  your  beauty  flashed 
O'er  all  my  years  and  made  their  meaning  clear ! 
'T  was  you  made  sweet  the  song  of  every  bird, 
'T  was  you  I  found  in  every  book  I  loved, 
'T  was  you  that  gave  a  soul  to  every  star ! 
I  can  not  speak  it !    Kiss  me  once — but  once — 
And  you  will  understand ! 

Asef.  What  thing  is  this  ? 

It  is  not  man,  for  man  respecteth  sorrow, 
Nor  brute,  for  it  doth  speak ! 

Char.  O  look  not  down ! 

Thou  canst  not  guard  thee !    Every  silken  sweep 
Of  thine  eyes'  soft  defence  but  whets  assault ! 
You  shall  not  go !    You  are  the  element 
In  which  I  breathe !    Go  from  me  and  I  fall 
A  lifeless  thing !    Aseffa,  pity  me ! 
'Tis  I  who  die,  not  you!     (Drops  her  hands  and  kneels) 

O  blame  me  not 
That  I  must  worship  here  — 

Asef.  Ah,  Rafael, 

I  '11  live  an  hour  to  pray  this  wrong  away 
Before  I  meet  thine  eyes!     (Goes.     Charles  grasps  her 

cloak)     Beast !    Claw  me  not ! 

(Goes  in.  Charles  gazes  after  her  in  a  bewildered 
way.  Tries  to  steady  himself,  and  goes  into  theatre  by 
main  entrance) 

(CURTAIN) 


130  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Scene  II:  Within  the  theatre.  Gay  decorations. 
Part  of  stage  shown,  on  which  chorus  is  assembled.  The 
Emperor  and  Empress  in  royal  box.  Imperial  cabinet 
and  friends  in  boxes  adjoining.  Part  of  pit  shown,  filled 
with  brightly  dressed  people. 

Max.     (To  Carlotta)    O,  this  is  welcome!    Are  you 

not  happy  now  ? 

There's  not  a  wrinkle  on  these  smiling  brows 
Where  discontent  may  write  her  annals  dark ! 
My  empire  now  is  fixed,  and  strength  and  love 
Are  gathering  to  my  side.    I  can  not  put 
My  hand  out  but  'tis  clasped  by  some  new  friend. 

Car.    And  true  ? 

Max.  And  true.    You  are  too  fearful,  sweet. 

Car.    And  you  too  trustful. 

Max.  Nay,  we  can  not  trust 

Too  much.    Brutus  spoke  noblest  when  he  said 
'  My  heart  doth  joy  that  yet  in  all  my  life 
I  found  no  man  but  he  was  true  to  me.' 
And  I  would  hope  as  much. 

Car.     (Aside)  None,  none  are  true ! 

Even  I  am  false  who  fear  to  speak  my  fears 
And  ease  his  own  when  I  should  quicken  them ! 
(Chorus  from  stage) 


Hail,  ye  royal  pair,  O  hail ! 
Like  two  souls  within  one  star 
May  your  heavenly  light  ne'er  fail, 
Empress  and  great  Emperor  ! 

Hail  to  thee  who  ruleth  mild 
As  the  manger-cradled  child ! 
Hail  to  her  who  long  may  be 
Guardian  of  us  and  thee ! 


CARLOTTA  131 

Hail,  O  hail,  ye  pair  divine  ! 
As  two  souls  within  one  star 
May  your  light  forever  shine, 
Empress  and  great  Emperor! 

(Estrada  appears  on  stage  in  front  of  chorus) 

Est.    Great  Majesties,  forgive  our  feeble  welcome. 
We  are  in  all  things  spotted  and  imperfect 
Save  in  affection  for  your  Highnesses. 

Max.     (Rising)     No,  no !    My  friend  —  and  friends  — 

had  you  not  hearts 

That  turn  to  virtue  as  the  flowers  to  sun, 
We  had  not  made  such  progress  to  an  hour 
When  all  the  Empire  wears  the  smile  of  peace, 
And  we  may  rest  like  Love  with  folded  arms 
Round  his  desire. 

Est.  'Tis  you  have  led  us,  sire. 

Pardon  this  mockery  of  what  we'd  do 
To  celebrate  this  day  had  we  but  means. 
We  shout  thy  name,  but  not  above  the  clouds ; 
We  send  up  fires,  but  lightnings  higher  reach ; 
We  have  adorned  the  city  and  ourselves, 
But  India  and  the  sea  keep  back  the  pearls 
We  would  pour  here ! 

Max.  Enough — and  more,  my  friends. 

O,  far  too  much !    None  mourn  now  but  the  gods 
Who  are  made  indigent  by  this  display 
Of  wealth  and  joy ! 

Est.     (Making   low   obeisance)      We    thank    your 

majesty. 

This  land  shall  e'er  be  called  the  happy  land, 
And  he  who  rules  it — 

Asef.     (Stepping   wildly   from   chorus)       Prince    of 

Murderers ! 
The  happy  land !    O  land  where  widows'  cries 


132  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Choke  Heaven,  and  mothers'  tears  make  each  new  day 
A  flood! 

Mir.    Guards  there !    Take  her  away !    The  guards ! 

Max.    No !    Let  her  stay !    We  '11  answer  her ! 

Mir.  My  lord — 

Max.    Madam,  we  seek  your  country's  love. 

Asef.    How  do  you  seek  it  ?  By  killing  her  dear  sons ! 
Setting  your  tigers  loose  among  her  children ! 
Mejia  from  your  very  breast  makes  fire 
On  patriot  virtue !    Dupin  wets  his  teeth 
By  day  and  night  in  infant  and  mother's  blood! 
Maximilian, 

In  brave  Trevino's  name,  Salazar's  name, 
In  name  of  all  as  noble  and  as  dear 
To  Mexico  as  they,  who  daily  die 
Beneath  their  country's  flag  the  death  of  dogs, 
Shot  down  by  your  black  law — signed  by  your  hand  — 
In  name  of  him  as  dear  to  me  as  thou 
To  that  proud  woman  who  shall  know  what  'tis 
To  clasp  a  ghost  where  throbbed  her  living  love,  — 
I  tell  thee — die!     (Leaps  from  stage  to  Emperor's  box 
attempting  to  stab  him.    As  she  leaps  Carlotta  springs 
before  the  Emperor) 

Car.  This  heart  —  not  that ! 

(Aseffa  drops  her  dagger  and  stands  bewildered.  An 
officer  seizes  her.  Utter  confusion  in  theatre.  Maximil- 
ian goes  onto  the  stage.  Silence) 

Max.  My  friends,  — 

All  you  who  love  me  see  me  here  unhurt, 
And  you  who  love  me  not,  if  any 's  here, 

(Cries  of  " none,  none  !") 
Take  aim  now  as  you  will. 

(Cries  of  " No !  no!  no!  no!") 

A  Voice.    Long  live  the  Emperor !    Maximilian! 

Max.    Then  if  you  love  me,  friends,  I  beg  you  '11  leave 


CARLOTTA  133 

This  place  of  song  and  go  to  the  Cathedral. 
There  pray  for  me  to  Him  who  spared  my  life, 
And,  if  you  will,  pray  that  He  yet  may  spare  it 
To  work  His  will  and  yours. 

(Crowd  goes  out  silently) 

Mar.     (To  Labastida)    That  was  well  done. 

Lab.    Sincerity  is  once  a  diplomat. 

Car.     (To  Princess  Salm-Salm)     Princess,  take  this 
poor  creature  to  your  care. 

(Officer  releases  Aseffa,  who  goes  out  as  in  a  dream 
with  Prince  and  Princess  Salm-Salm  and  several  ladies) 

Mar.     (Approaching  Maximilian)    Your  Majesty,  let 

me  congratulate  — 
111,  sire  ? 

Max.    Sick,  sick,  O  sick  of  compliments ! 
If  I  've  a  friend  here  let  me  hear  the  truth ! 
What  did  that  creature  mean  ?    The  truth,  I  say ! 
(Silence)    You,  Miramon  ?    Lopez  ?   (Silence)   Trevino  's 
dead? 

Lop.    He  is. 

Max.  And  Rafael  Mendorez  ? 

Lop.  Dead. 

The  woman  is  his  widow. 

Max.        Oh!  ...  And  this!     (Taking out  message) 
This  from  Dupin !    'All  quiet  in  Savarro.' 
It  means  — 

Lop.    The  town  is  ashes. 

Max.  OGod!    OGod! 

You  ministers !    Ay,  ministers  of  hell ! 
Didst  think  ye  served  the  devil  ? 

Est.  O,  my  lord  — 

Max.    No  friend !    Not  one !    Charles !    Charles !  you 

must  have  known ! 

These  foreign  hearts  have  their  excuse,  but  you  — 
The  tower  of  confidence  between  us  two, 


134  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER   PLAYS 

Built  part  by  part  by  faithful  mason  hours, 
Is  shaken  to  atoms ! 

Char.  I  will  build  it  o'er ! 

Max.    First  will  the  wind-strewn  rose  upgather  all 
Her  petals  from  the  dust,  and  cheek  by  cheek, 
Hang  them  new-smiling  on  the  nodding  bough ! 

Mir.    Your  Majesty,  what  we  have  done  was  done 
To  save  our  country  and  your  beloved  life. 
Your  noble  heart  was  blind  to  your  great  danger, 
And  't  was  our  duty  and  our  work  of  love 
To  save  you  from  your  fatal  tenderness. 

Lop.     (Kneeling)     O  gracious  sovereign,  had  I  but 

known 

You  did  not  know,  I  would  have  dared  the  wrath 
Of  all  the  court,  and  spoken  to  you  but  truth ! 

Max.     (Lifting  him  up)    And  't  was  your  tongue 

at  last  that  broke  the  silence. 
I  must  forgive  you. 

Mar.  By  your  necessity, 

Your  Majesty,  we  may  all  hope  for  pardon. 
Juarez,  encouraged  by  the  United  States, 
Is  roused  again  to  war.    We  have  appealed 
For  compromise  and  terms  of  friendly  union, 
But  his  one  answer  for  us  all  is  —  death ! 
Yet  are  we  faithful  to  you,  sire. 

Max.  O  Heaven ! 

What  poisonous  opiate  have  you  fed  me  with 
And  called  it  peace  ?    But  war  is  not  the  worst ! 
Oh,  Miramon,  did  you  not  swear  to  me 
All  prisoners  taken  by  that  cruel  law 
Should  be  reported  day  or  night  to  me 
That  I  might  pardon  or  remit  their  sentence  ? 

Mir.  O,  sir,  you  knew  not  your  extremity, 
Nor  could  you  know  it  though  we  told  it  you, 
The  hearts  of  Mexicans  once  turned  to  hate 


CARLOTTA  135 

Are  far  too  deep  for  sincere  eyes  to  pierce. 
But  I  thank  God  we  knew  the  danger,  sire, 
And  struck  the  serpent  raised  even  at  your  life, 
When  you,  all  gentleness,  could  not  have  given 
The  necessary  blow.    Ay,  God  be  thanked,  although 
You  cast  me  from  your  heart.    'T  will  be  my  Comfort 
To  know  I  served  you  better  than  you  dreamed. 
And  'tis  the  penalty  of  over-love 

To  suffer  by  the  hand  that  (kneels  and  kisses  Maximil- 
ian's hand)   it  would  kiss ! 

Max.    Must  I  forgive  him,  Heaven  ? 

Lab.  Ay,  sir,  you  must, 

For  his  deceit  was  but  the  greater  truth 
That  served  your  blind  necessity. 

Est.  O,  sir, 

Do  not  desert  us !    If  now  the  Empire  falls 
'Tis  death  to  all  that  have  been  true  to  you. 
Juarez  will  give  no  quarter  to  your  friends. 

Max.    The  Liberals  advance  ? 

Mar.  Each  day  they  're  nearer ; 

And  towns  and  provinces  fall  by  the  way. 

Berz.    Without  you,  sir,  our  cause  will  die  in  blood, 
And  Mexico  be  but  a  grave  for  those 
Who  'TC  loved  and  served  you ! 

Mar.  The  United  States  has  ranked 

Full  sixty  thousand  men  on  our  frontiers,  — 
But  we  have  France  — 

Max.  I  am  awake !    At  last ! 

From  now  no  man  shall  risk  his  life  for  me 
But  I  take  equal  chance  with  him  !    Ah,  this 
Is  war,  not  murder ! 

Mar.  You  will  lead  our  troops  ? 

Max.  I  will. 

Mar.    Then  Mexico  is  saved !    The  way 
To  win  the  southern  hearts  is  but  to  trust  them. 


136  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Leave  at  your  capital  the  foreign  troops 
And  lead  your  native  soldiers  'gainst  the  foe ! 

Car.     (Aside)    No !  Never !  Never !  Alone  with  those 
dark  hearts ! 

(Enter  Marshal  Bazaine  with  envoy  from  France, 
Comte  de  St.  Sueveur,  Marquis  de  Gallifet,  and  General 
Castlenau) 

Baz.    My  lord,  we  bring  new  messages  from  France. 

Gen.  Cast.    Your   majesty,  we    beg   your   gracious 

pardon 
For  this  unseemly  pressure. 

Max.  You  have  it,  sir. 

What  says  Napoleon  ? 

Cast.    He    greets    you,    sire,    with    my    unworthy 

tongue, 
And  sends  this  letter.     (Maximilian  reads) 

Max.    My  eyes,  I  think,  turn  wizards 
And  conjure  'gainst  the  truth  that  must  be  here. 
For  I  read  false.     (Puzzled)    What  does  he  mean  ?    Not 
this  — 

Baz.    My  lord,  my  letters  make  the  import  clear. 
I  have  instructions  here  to  counsel  you 
To  make  immediate  abdication. 

Max.  No ! 

Car.    What?    Abdication? 

Baz.  Ay !    That  is  the  word. 

Car.    A    word   for    fear    and    weakness,    not    for 

strength, 

And  Maximilian  is  as  strong  as  France 
While  great  Napoleon  respects  his  oath ! 
His  troops  are  ours  — 

Baz.  Nay,  princess  — 

Mir.     (Fiercely)  Her  Majesty ! 

Baz.     (Sneers)    You  prize  the  feather  when  the  cap  is 
lost  ? 


CARLOTTA  137 

(To  the  Empress)      Pardon    a   slipping   tongue,  your 

Majesty. 

Those  troops  you  speak  of  go  with  me  to  France. 
Such  is  my  order — such  the  firm  demand 
Of  the  United  States. 

Car.  Is  France  a  province 

Of  the  United  States  ?    Napoleon 
Page,  lackey,  footboy  to  America  ? 
Is  she  an  Empire,  he  an  Emperor  ? 
Or  have  we  dreamed  he  is  Napoleon  ? 

Max.     (Recovered  from  his  bewilderment) 
Withdraw  his  troops !    He  can  not — dare  not  do  it ! 
'T  would  blister  history's  page  to  set  it  down, 
And  'tis  his  burning  wish  to  be  the  star 
Of  human  chronicles.     I  '11  not  believe  it, 
Though  all  my  senses  brand  confirming  yea 
Upon  my  mind.     O  shout  it  in  my  ears, 
And  let  me  see  the  troops  go  marching  out, 
Still  I  '11  believe  it  is  my  eyes  and  ears 
That  mutiny,  not  France  turned  traitor ! 

Eaz.    Your  Majesty,  you  must  believe  the  truth, 
And  make  you  ready  for  a  swift  departure. 
'T  will  not  be  safe  here  let  a  moon  go  by. 

Max.    If  danger's  here,  then  here  I  stay  to  share  it. 
Dost  think  I  '11  leave  my  friends  to  die  alone 
While  I  by  flight  dishonor  Majesty  ? 

Eaz.    'Tis  death  to  stay.    You  would  not  be  so  mad. 

Mir.    Hail  to  our  new-born  king !  New-born  thou  art 
Unto  our  love.     Nay,  we  did  love  before, 
But  now  we  '11  worship  thee. 

Car.  Napoleon ! 

You  shall  not  do  this  monstrous  thing !    You  shall  not ! 

Eaz.    The   crown    of  France  doth  ask   consent  of 
none. 

Car.    I  '11  go  to  him  and  say  such  words  that  from 


138  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

His  shame-marked  brow  his  outraged  crown  will  fall 
In  horror.     I  will  go !    Take  out  the  troops, 
Bazaine.     Ay,  take  them  out !    He  will  be  glad 
To  send  them  back  and  purchase  with  his  blood 
Redemption  from  such  shame.    He  '11  empty  France 
To  do  it !    I  will  go.     But  I  '11  not  kneel. 
A  thousand  years  my  blood  has  run  through  kings, 
And  he's  the  third  Napoleon!     (Sinks,  exhausted  with 
emotion.    Ladies  attend  her) 

Mir.  The  traitor ! 

We  have  no  need  of  him !    To  France,  Bazaine, 
And  tell  your  Emperor  our  Emperor 
Needs  not  his  fickle  strength  to  stand  upon ! 
Sire,  we  have  men,  and  money  in  our  banks  — 

Lab.    A  mighty  church  whose  power  is  untold 
If  you  restore  her  rights,  as  now  we  hope, 
And  thus  united  we  shall  defy  the  world ! 

Max.    And  Heaven,  too  ?    For  that  is  what  we  do 
When  we  set  up  the  church  in  her  old  wrongs. 
Nay,  keep  your  aid,  and  I  will  keep  my  soul. 

Lop.     Your  virtuous  angel  strives  to  make  you  god. 

Max.    No,  but  to  keep  me  honest. 

Mar.     (Aside  to  Lab.)  Yield  to  him. 

'Tis  not  the  hour  to  cast  him  off. 

Lab.  My  lord, 

Your  virtue  conquers,  and  unto  your  hands 
I  yield  the  power  o'  the  church. 

Max.  I  thank  your  grace, 

Nor  for  myself,  but  Mexico. 

Baz.  I  go  to  France. 

What  message  have  you  for  Napoleon  ? 

Max.    Tell  him  that  he  has  placed  me  here  between 
Death  and  dishonor  —  and  my  choice  is  made. 

(Bazaine  and  French  ambassadors  turn  slowly  and 
go  out) 


CARLOTTA  139 

Max.     (Quietly  to  Miramori)    We '11  join  you  at  the 

door. 

(Exeunt  all  but  Carlotta  and  Maximilian.    He  holds 
out  his  arms,  and  she  goes  silently  to  his  embrace) 

(CURTAIN) 


ACT  IV. 


Scene  I:  Queretaro.  Plaza  La  Cruz  before  church 
and  convent.  Grey  light  before  dawn.  Occasional  dis- 
tant firing  of  guns.  Maximilian  comes  out  of  church 
and  walks  about  plaza. 

Max.    Carlotta !    Where  dost  thou  pray  to-night  ? 

In  all 

Our  fearful  scanning  of  prophetic  heavens 
No  swart  star  showed  us  this  —  our  separation. 
Thou  wert  the  all  of  me,  the  breath,  the  soul ! 
Nature  conceived  thee  when  her  blood  was  young, 
And  May  was  in  her  spirit,  but  stayed  thy  birth 
Till  Time  had  taught  her  skill  in  all  perfections ! 
...  I  will  not  weep.  .  .  Yon  stars  have  memories  too, 
And  tell  old  tales  of  grandsire  suns  that  shook 
Their  locks  and  fell  ere  they  were  young  who  now 
Are  eld  of  all!  .    .   .    (Walks)   To  lie  so  low.  .  .   .  Oman, 
Who  in  the  heavens  carvest  out  redemption, 
Laying  thy  golden  streets  in  very  skies, 
Making  the  stars  but  eyets  of  thy  port, 
Must  thou  compact  thee  to  a  little  earth, 
Displace  some  few  small  tenants  of  the  sod, 


140  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

And  find  thou'sf  room  enough?  ....  (Looks  up)   City 

of  dream ! 

Time '  s  far  ghost  inn !    Eternity '  s  mirage ! 
Desire's  dim  temple  fashioned  out  of  prayer, 
Builded  and  jointured  by  no  carpenter 
But  captious  Fancy !    .  .  .    O  Carlotta,  wife ! 
Thou  wert  my  Christian  heart !    Faith,  faith,  my  God ! 
Death  to  the  unbeliever  is  to  land 
Upon  a  coast  dumb  in  the  moonless  dark, 
Where  no  hands  wave  a  welcome,  no  eyes  shine 
With  promise  of  sweet  hours,  no  voices  call 
The  greeting  that  makes  every  shore  a  home. 
(Listens)     My    officers!      I  can  not    see  them  yet. 
(Goes  in.     Eater  Colonel  Lopez  in  close  talk  with  Lieu- 
tenant Garza  who  is  disguised  as  an  Imperial  officer) 

Garza.    I  'm  satisfied. 

Lopez.    This  hill  is  the  key  to  the  city. 

Gar.    Yes. 

Lop.    And  yours  on  terms  we  have  considered. 

Gar.     Here's  Escobedo's  guarantee.     (Gives paper) 

Lop.  This  to  my  pocket,  and  Queretaro  to  the 
Liberals! 

Gar.    'T  is  heavy  business.   You  do  it  lightly,  colonel. 

Lop.    The  world  's  a  feather. 

Gar.    If  we  but  think  so. 

Lop.    At  dawn  my  troops  are  yours. 

Gar.    And  you  command  the  Empress'  regiment. 

Lop.    Yes.    The  pick  of  Maximilian's  soldiers. 

Gar.    One  other  question.  The  southern  gate — Hist ! 

Lop.  The  nuns.  (They  draw  aside  and  converse. 
Two  nuns  come  out  of  convent  and  cross  plaza) 

1st  Nun.  The  good  Emperor  is  not  out  yet.  He  is 
often  here  long  before  day  walking  and  thinking.  'Tis 
then,  they  say,  his  mind  is  on  the  blessed  Empress  who 
has  gone  across  the  sea  to  get  help  for  him.  By  day  he 


CARLOTTA  141 

never  speaks  her  name,  but  thinks  only  of  our  poor 
country. 

2d Nun.  Hark!  The  enemy's  guns!  They  can  not 
reach  us. 

1st  Nun.  Can  not  ?  A  shell  broke  here  yesterday. 
The  Emperor  stood  just  there. 

2d  Nun.    Holy  mother !     What  did  his  Majesty  do  ? 

1st  Nun.  He  smiled,  and  said  he  might  have  chosen  his 
place  better ;  then  moved  to  the  very  spot  where  the  ball 
had  burst,  as  though  he  hoped  another  would  follow  it. 

2d  Nun.    Blessed  virgin !    Would  he  die  ? 

1st  Nun.  I'm  sure  he  would  not  live.  Come,  sister. 
Ah,  we  have  but  one  loaf  this  morning. 

2d  Nun.  Let  us  be  glad  we  can  give  that,  — for  many 
are  hungry. 

1st  Nun.    Many  are  starved  —  dead. 

2d  Nun.  But  the  good  Emperor !  It  is  so  sad  to 
think  of  him  without  food. 

1st  Nun.  He  will  give  this  to  his  officers.  Yesterday 
I  saw  Prince  Salm-Salm  and  the  general  Miramon  each 
with  a  bit  of  white  bread  that  can  not  be  found  in  all 
Queretaro  outside  of  our  convent. 

2d  Nun.  The  good  man !  Holy  Mother  bless  and 
keep  him  !  (They  go  into  the  Cruz) 

Lop.    What  will  you  do  with  Maximilian  ? 

Gar.    Make  a  Liberal  of  him. 

Lop.    Ha!    How? 

Gar.    Shoot  him ! 

Lop.    Shoot  him  ? 

Gar.  Yes.  The  grave  's  the  great  republican  senate 
house, — where  each  man  has  the  floor. 

Lop.     (Laughing)     And  you  will  introduce  him ! 

Gar.    Hark ! 

Lop.  The  Emperor !  Go !  (Exit  Garza.  Enter  Maxi- 
milian and  Prince  Salm-Salm) 


142  SEMIS  AMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Max.  (Greeting  Lopez  affectionately)  You  're  early 
out,  my  boy. 

Lop.    Your  majesty,  I  am  the  officer  of  the  day. 

Max.    Yes, — I  remember.    Who  was  your  friend  ? 

Lop.    Ramirez,  of  Dupin's  regiment. 

Salm.  Ramirez!  He's  much  changed  if  that 
was  he. 

Lop.  Shall  I  call  him  back,  your  majesty,  that  the 
prince  may  convince  himself  that  his  memory  of  faces  is 
not  infallible  ? 

Max.  Nay,  my  trusted  two !  (Puts  an  arm  about 
each)  Would  you  might  love  each  other  as  I  love  you 
both.  My  prince,  whose  courage  is  the  very  heart  of  my 
army,  and  my  young  hussar,  dear  for  your  own  sake  — 
dearer  still  because — she  trusted  you ! 

(Blasio,  the  Emperor's  secretary,  conies  out  of  the 
Cruz) 

Blasio.     Your  majesty,  I  have  finished  the  letters. 

Max.  Good.  There  will  be  no  more  to  write. 
(Stumbles  over  something)  What 's  this  ? 

Blasio.    A  fallen  Christ. 

Max.    You  mean  a  fallen  figure  of  the  risen  Christ. 

Lop.    Here  is  the  crown  of  thorns. 

Max.  Give  it  to  me.  (Holds  it  meditatively)  How 
well  it  suits  my  fortunes  ! 

Salm.    Nay— 

Max.  Ay,  better  than  my  golden  one.  (Gives  it  to 
Blasio)  Hang  it  above  my  bed.  My  Queretaro 
crown ! 

Salm.    Do  not,  your  majesty ! 

Max.  (To  Blasio)  Take  it.  (Exit  Blasio)  Why, 
prince,  'tis  something  to  have  won  a  crown.  My  first 
was  given  me.  (Firing  and  falling  of  shells) 

Salm.  I  beg  you,  sire,  to  move  your  quarters  to  a 
safer  station.  This  is  death  at  any  moment ! 


CARLOTTA  143 

Max.  Death  at  any  moment—  (Regretfully)  And  I 
have  been  here  sixty  days. 

Lop.    Courage,  sire !    Marquez  will  come ! 

Max.     (Eagerly)    Has  there  been  news  ? 

Lop.    Not  yet,  your  majesty. 

Max.  Not  yet !  What  does  it  mean  ?  You  heard 
him  take  the  oath  to  bring  me  help  or  die.  'T  was  here 
he  swore — before  us  all.  Vowed  to  return  with  troops 
in  fifteen  days !  Ah,  he  is  dead. 

Salm.    No,  your  majesty. 

Max.    But  if  he  lives  ? 

Salm.    He  is  a  traitor. 

Max.    You  heard  his  oath — 

Salm.    A  traitor's  oath  ! 

Lop.  He's  true,  your  majesty.  His  messengers  are 
murdered. 

Salm.    He's  false! 

Max.    But  that  means — death. 

Salm.    Or  flight. 

Max.    Not  flight ! 

(Enter  Miramon  and  Mendez)  You're  welcome, 
gentlemen.  Your  eyes  bring  news. 

Mir.    Your  majesty,  Metz  has  returned. 

Max.  At  last ! 

News  of  Marquez !     He  comes !    I  know  he  comes ! 

Men.    O,  sire,  — 

Max.    The  faithful  Metz !    Where  is  he  ? 

Metz.     (Entering)  Sire!  (Kneels) 

Max.     Rise,  sir. 

Metz.    O  pardon  me,  your  majesty ! 
I  bring  but  wintry  news. 

Max.  Marquez — 

Metz.  Is  false. 

Max.    Oh,    no,  no,  no !      He   comes !      I  know  he 

t 


144  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER   PLAYS 

Metz.    He's     leagued     with     Labastida,— for    the 

church 
Deserts  you  too. 

Max.    The  church  gone  with  him !    No!  no!    I  can't 
believe  it ! 

Metz.     You  do  not  doubt  me  ! 

Max.  Not  you !    But  in  my  ear 

The  tale  turns  miracle !    And  I  must  doubt, 
Though  on  your  tongue  'tis  truth ! 

Metz.  '  T  is  truth  indeed ! 

The  troops  he  was  to  bring  you  from  the  city, 
He  led  for  his  own  glory  against  Diaz, 
Thinking  to  make  himself  the  conqueror 
And  president  of  Mexico. 

Max.  My  troops ! 

What  then  ? 

Metz.    Porfirio  Diaz  routed  them 
To  the  last  man.    Marquez  himself  escaped 
Alone, — fled  unattended  from  the  field. 

Max.    My  troops !  my  troops !  .  .  And  this  is  friend- 
ship !    O  God, 
Give  me  but  enemies ! 

Salm.  Your  Majesty — 

Max.    Who  calls  me  majesty  ?    There 's  none  in  me. 
I  am  a  riven  oak  whose  leaf-light  friends 
Fly  with  misfortune's  Autumn.     (Steps  away,  bowed  in 
grief) 

Salm.     (Following- him)     I  love  you,  sire. 

Lop.     (Eagerly)      So    do    we    all!     Your   majesty, 
believe  us ! 

Mir.    Canst  not  spare  one  who  have  so  many  true  ? 

Max.    Forgive   me,  friends.     This  treachery  's  the 

night 
Wherein  your  hearts  of  gold  beat  out  like  stars ! 

Lop.    My  life  is  yours,  my  lord ! 


CARLOTTA  145 

Max.  Thanks,  dear  Lopez.     (Takes  his  hand) 
In  friendship  lies  the  joy  superlative, 
And  nearest  Heaven.    We  touch  God's  hand  whene'er 
We  clasp  a  friend's. 
But  now  we  must  take  counsel. 

Salm.    No,  sire,  we  must  take  action.     Pardon  me, 
But  our  sole  hope  of  safety  lies  in  flight. 

Max.    What!    Leave  the  town  to  sack  and  ruin? 

No! 

Desert  the  poor  inhabitants,  so  long  our  friends  ? 
And  all  our  wounded,  sick  and  dying  ?    Never ! 

Salm.    But  if  you  stay,  my  lord,  you  sacrifice 
The  living  with  the  dying. 

Max.  Oh,  Heaven,  Heaven ! 

Lop.    Your  Majesty,  this  counsel  is  not  wise. 
It  is  not  honor ! 

Salm.  Honor  will  lead  the  flight ! 

To  stay  were  crime !    Sire,  give  the  order  now. 
At  once !    The  firing  to  the  north  has  ceased. 
All  night  I  've  reconnoitered.    The  way  is  clear 
For  the  last  time.    We  '11  arm  the  citizens 
To  cover  flight,  and  in  an  hour  — 

Lop.  We '11  be 

Attacked  on  every  side !    A  madman's  counsel ! 

Salm.    O,  sire,  lose  not  a  moment ! 

Mir.  Lopez  is  right. 

To  fly  from  death  is  not  dishonor,  but  who 
That  values  honor  throws  away  one  chance 
Of  victory  ? 

Salm.        There  is  no  chance.     Not  one ! 
My  word  is  fly,  and  I  'm  no  coward,  sire. 

Max.    You  've  led  our  troops  where  every  track  was 

blood, 

And  in  the  throat  of  battle,  hand  to  hand, 
Have  fought  with  Death!    We  know  you'll  dare  a  fight 


146  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER   PLAYS 

As  far  as  any  man  while  there's  a  hope 
Of  victory. 

Salm.        But  I  '11  not  make  my  folly 
The  captain  to  defeat 

Lop.  'T  is  not  defeat ! 

The  Liberals  are  at  their  fortune's  ebb. 
They're  sick  with  fear,  and  tremble  in  their  rags. 

Mendez.    Let 's  fight  it  out,  my  lord ! 

Max.  With  starving  men  ? 

Lop.    We  're  starving,  but  our  foes  are  starved. 
Our  ammunition  fails,  but  theirs  has  failed  — 

(A  shell  breaks  near  them) 

Salm.    That,  sir,  unspeaks  your  words. 

Lop.  Not  so.    One  shell 

But  tells  how  few  they  are,  for  yesterday 
They  fell  in  numbers.    And  to  the  north,  you  say, 
The  guns  are  silent. 

Salm.  Sire,  a  moment  lost 

May  mean  the  loss  of  all. 

(Enter  Dupin  with  two  prisoners.  Lopez  goes  to 
meet  him) 

Dupin.  What  did  you  mean  by  your  infernal  order 
to  bring  these  men  here?  Don't  you  know  old  Saint- 
face  won't  let  them  be  shot  ? 

Lop.    Keep  quiet.    They  are  my  captives,  not  yours. 

Dup.  I've  plugged  just  ninety-eight  this  week,  and 
it's  too  bad  not  to  make  an  even  hundred. 

Max.     (Approaching)     Prisoners  ? 

Dup.  Deserters,  your  majesty.  They  have  con- 
fessed it.  I  've  brought  them  here  for  sentence.  Will 
you  have  them  shot  at  once,  or  wait  till  sunrise  ? 

Max.  None  shall  be  shot.  Not  one.  How  often 
must  we  say  it  ?  If  things  go  well  here,  good ;  if  not, 
still  is  my  conscience  clear  of  blood.  (To  deserter) 
You '  ve  been  with  the  enemy  ? 


CARLOTTA  147 

1st  Des.  Yes,  curse  the  day !  Your  pardon,  blessed 
majesty ! 

Max.    How  fare  our  foes  ? 

1st  Des.  The  best  of  them  as  bad  as  the  worst  with 
us. 

Lop.    You  note  that,  prince  ? 

2d  Des.  We  have  a  little  food,  but  they  have  none. 
The  country  is  eaten  bare.  Diaz  is  trying  to  reach  them 
with  supplies,  but  at  present  there  is  n't  enough  meal  in 
ten  miles  of  the  army  to  make  an  ash-cake. 

Lop.    More  proof  for  the  prince,  vour  majesty. 

Max.    Their  powder  fails  ? 

2d  Des.  Yes,  sire.  'T  would  be  all  the  same  if  it 
didn't,  for  they've  hardly  strength  left  to  stand  on  their 
toes  and  fire  the  guns. 

Max.    Poor  fellows ! 

Lop.  You  can  not  doubt,  my  lord,  that  we  shall  win 
with  the  next  assault. 

Mir.    Cast  fear  to  the  winds,  your  majesty ! 

Salm.    Who  spoke  of  fear  ? 

Mir.    Not  I !    Fear  is  the  devil's  magic-glass 
He  holds  before  us  to  swell  out  our  vision, 
Turn  hares  to  lions,  stones  a  lamb  might  skip 
To  beetling  cliffs  that  ne'er  knew  human  foot, 
And  slightest  obstacles,  that  do  but  make 
The  mind's  fair  exercise  and  moral  zest, 
To  barriers,  high  as  heaven,  to  success ! 

Lop.     (Sneering)       And    Juarez'    men    of    rags  to 
glittering  armies ! 

Max.    We  '11  hazard  battle. 

Salm.  I  beg  your  majesty  — 

Max.  We  know  your  courage,  prince,  for  it  is  writ 
In  many  a  scar ;  but  you  are  wrong  in  this. 

Lop.    You  '11  hear  no  more  of  flight,  my  lord  ? 

Max.  No  more. 


148  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Lop.    Then  I  '11  to  duty,  knowing  all  is  well. 

(Exit  Lopez) 

Dupin.  (Aside)  And  I  '11  go  find  a  breakfast  for  my 
little  man-eater.  (Clapping  his  weapon)  There 's  never 
anything  to  be  done  around  his  saintship.  (Exit) 

Mir.    In  half  an  hour  ? 

Max.  Yes.  The  plans  will  then  be  ready.  (Turns  to 
go  in)  You,  prince,  with  me.  Though  I've  dismissed 
your  head  from  service,  I  still  must  have  your  heart. 
(Goes  into  church  with  Salm-Salm) 

Mir.     (To  Mendez)    What  do  you  think  of  it  ? 

Men.    Why,    sir,    I'd     rather     die     fighting     than 

running. 

And  there 's  a  chance  for  us.  The  Liberals  are  beggared. 
There 's  hardly  a  uniform  in  camp.  If  Marquez  had  kept 
true,  we  should  have  saved  the  empire. 

Mir.  Do  n't  speak  of  him !  Hell's  throne  is  empty 
while  he  's  on  earth ! 

(Exeunt  Mendez  and  Mir.) 

1st  Des.  Well,  comrade,  here's  promotion  fast 
enough.  We  that  were  prisoners  are  captains  of  the , 
field.  Lead  on! 

2d  Des.  Be  sure  the  Tigre  is  not  around.  He 's  got 
a  long  claw.  Ugh !  I  feel  shaky  yet. 

(Exeunt.  It  grows  lighter.  Guard  conies  out  of  the 
Cruz  and  takes  station  by  door.  Enter  Princess  Salm- 
Salm,  Aseffa,  and  women  of  Queretaro) 

Princess  S.     (Excitedly)    Admit  me  to  the  emperor ! 

Guard.  Your  pardon. 

He  must  not  be  disturbed. 

Princess  S.  Oh,  but  he  must ! 

The  pity  of  it  that  he  must ! 

Guard.  Nay,  madam — 

Princess  S.    Admit  us,  sir,  or  I  will  beat  the  door ! 

(Maximilian  comes  to  door) 


CARLOTTA  149 

Max.    Some  trouble  here?     The  princess!    Always 
welcome ! 

Princess  S.    But  such  unwelcome  news,  your  majesty ! 
You  know  1  've  rooms  at  Senor  Barrio's  house. 
I  've  long  suspected  him.    Last  night  he  lodged 
Two  men  whose  conference  I  overheard. 
All  was  not  clear,  but  part  was  clear  enough. 
One  of  your  trusted  officers  is  false, 
And  you  to-day — this  hour — will  be  betrayed 
Unto  your  foes. 

Max.  Impossible ! 

Princess  S.  O,  sire, 

Be  blind  no  longer.     This  lady  heard  the  men 
As  I  did.     There 's  no  doubt ! 

Lady.  'T  is  certain,  sire, 

That  they  were  officers  in  the  Liberal  army, 
And  spoke  of  things  that  set  me  all  aghast. 

Max.    Good  women,  I    thank   you,    but  you    are 

deceived. 

There's  not  a  man  about  me  whose  true  face 
Is  not  the  table  where  fidelity 
Writes  him  my  own. 

Princess  S.  O,  sir,  'tis  one  whose  hand 

Is  in  your  bosom. 

Max.  Nay  — 

Princess  S.  That  much  I  know, 

Though  I  know  not  his  name. 

Max.  Bold  Miramon 

Is  staunch  as  death.    Mendez  would  in  his  breast 
Receive  the  bullet  meant  for  me.    Dupin 
Has  been  too  cruel  to  the  enemy 
To  hope  for  life  even  at  treason's  price. 
And  Lopez  is  my  own  created  love, 
The  Empress'  guard,— the  only  Mexic  heart 
I  've  taken  a  very  brother's  to  my  own. 


150  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Princess  S.    What  shall  I    do  ?     This  moment  you 

must  fly ! 
Stand  not,  your  majesty !    'T  will  be  too  late ! 

(Prince  Salm-Salm  comes  to  door) 
Thank  God,  my  husband !    His  majesty 's  betrayed ! 
You ' ve  never  doubted  me ! 

Prince  Salm.  Betrayed  ? 

Max.  No,  prince,  — 

Prince  Salm.    1  '11  visit  every  post ! 

Princess  S.  You  but  lose  time. 

(The  prince  hurries  out) 
Oh  God!    Oh  God! 

Max.  Sweet  princess,  be  not  troubled. 

There  is  no  cause. 

Princess  S.          Ah,  we  are  lost ! 

(The  bells  of  the  city  begin  to  ring) 

Max.  You  hear  ? 

The  bells !    The  enemy  has  raised  the  siege ! 
O  joyous  news! 

Princess  S.  No,  no,  your  majesty. 
That  is  the  traitor's  signal  of  success. 
Oh  Heaven ! 

Max.         What  madness!    'T is  impossible! 

Princess  S.    Those  bells  proclaim  that  every  Imperial 

post 
Is  in  a  Liberal's  command.     We  're  lost ! 

(Enter  citizens  and  soldiers  in  confusion) 

1st  Cit.    What  mean  the  bells  ? 

2d  Cit.  That  Escobedo  's  fled ! 

3d  Cit.    Marquez  has  come ! 

1st  Soldier.  No,  no !    The  city 's  taken ! 

2d  Soldier.    Juarez  is  here !    The  Liberals  are  on  us ! 

(Confused    talking  and  shouts  continue.     Re-enter 
Prince  Salm-Salm) 

Max.    What  is  it,  prince  ? 


CARLOTTA  151 

Prince  Salm.  O  dearest  majesty  — 

Max.    The  worst ! 

PSalm.  'T  is  treachery.    We  are  surrounded ! 

Max.    Those  bells  - 

PSalm.  Ring  out  the  enemy's  success. 

Each  post  is  captained  by  a  Liberal. 

Max.  (Calmly  to  princess)  Forgive  me.  You  were 
right.  (To  Prince  Salm-Salm)  Who  is 
the  traitor  ? 

P  Salm.    Ask  not,  I  beg  you. 

Max.  His  name ! 

P  Salm.  Lopez. 

Max.    Lopez  ?     (Staggers) 
Unsay  that  word  —  and  take  my  crown ! 

PSalm.  O,  would 

I  could,  your  majesty  !    It  is  too  true ! 

Max.        Lopez!    Carlotta's  chosen  officer! 
And  heaped  with  favors  high  enough  to  make 

A  pyramid  to  faith ! Is  this  the  world, 

Or  some  strange  fancy  spinning  in  my  eyes  ? 

P  Salm.    My  dearest  liege  — 

Max.  Who  would  not  leave  a  life 

Where  such  things  be,  though  death  were  sleep  eternal  ? 
.  .  .  Lead  me  'mong  shells  and  bayonets.     But  not 
To  kill.     My  God,  there 's  blood  enough  been  shed. 
Bid  all  surrender.     Let  no  more  lives  be  lost. 
Farewell,  my  prince.   .  .  .  Now  for  a  friendly  shell !  — 
Just  here !     (Striking  his  heart,  rushes  out) 

Princess  S.  O  save  him !  I  am  safe !  Go !  go !  (Exit 
Salm-Salm) 

1st  Woman.    We  shall  all  be  butchered ! 

Aseffa.    Juarez  is  no  butcher. 

2d  Woman.    'Tis  Escobedo  leads,  —  and  many  have 
bled  by  him. 

Aseffa.    Be  not  afraid.    I  know  the  Liberals. 


152  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Voices.    They  come !  they  come ! 

(Miramon  and  Dupin  rush  in) 

Mir.    Where  is  the  Emperor  ? 

Dttp.    Emperor   dunce-cap!     We  must  look  to  our 
own  skins. 

(Enter  a  score  of  ragged  Liberals   led  by  Rafael. 
Aseffa  stares  at  him,  speechless) 

Mir.    Too  late  for  that ! 

Raf.    You  are  our  prisoners.     (Liberals  take  Dupin 
and  Miramon) 

Soldiers.    Shoot  them !    Shoot  them !    Miramon  and 
Dupin !    The  butchers !    The  dogs ! 

Raf.    Hold !     You  are  soldiers !    Not  murderers ! 

Dup.     (To  soldiers)     You  rags  and  bones !    Go  wash 
and  eat  before  you  touch  a  gentleman ! 

Sol.    You'll  not   be   so    nice  to-morrow  when  the 
worms  are  at  you ! 

Asef.    Raphael !     (Flies  to  him) 

Raf.    You  here!    O  blessed  fortune!    My  lore!    my 
love! 

Asef.    O,  is  it  true?    You  are  alive!    Alive! 
I  too  am  resurrected,  for  I  was  dead, 
Slain  with  the  news  that  you  were  murdered ! 

Raf.    I've  news  too  bitter  for  so  sweet  a  moment. 
Ignacio  bribed  my  guard — stood  in  my  place  — 
And  died. 

Asef.     (Recoiling)    You  let  him  die  for  you  ? 

Raf.  No,  no ! 

He  carefully  deceived  me.    I  thought  he  planned 
His  own  escape  with  mine. 

Asef.  O  noble  friend !  .  .  . 

Juarez !    He  knows  ? 

Raf.  Not  yet. 

Asef.  What  grief  for  that 

Great  heart !    .  .    But  you  are  here— my  Rafael ! 


CARLOTTA  153 

Rat.    By  all  these  kisses— yes ! 

Asef.  These  are  your  lips — 

Your  eyes — your  hands  — alive !    I  hear  your  heart ! 
Your  arms  are  round  me,  yet  this  is  the  earth ! 
My  country  and  my  husband  safe ! 

Raf.  God  gives 

Some  moments  out  of  Heaven,  and  this  is  one ! 

(Enter  a  soldier) 

Sol.    The  Emperor  is  captured  by  Escobedo ! 

Princess  S.    Not  killed !    not  killed !    Thank  Heaven 
for  that! 

Sol.  'T  was  strange 

To  see  him  stand  like  this  (folds  his  arms)  among  the 
shells ! 

Asef.    Now  I  could  pity  him,  for  he  must  die. 

Princess  S.    Die,  woman !    Die  ?    You  know  not  who 

he  is! 

Why  all  the  outraged  world  would  rise  and  raze 
This  devil's  country  from  the  face  of  earth 
Were  Maximilian  slain !    Let  Juarez  dare 
To  harm  this  son  of  kings  and  he  will  learn 
His  beggar's  power  is  but  an  infant's  breath ! 

Asef.    Good  madam,  you  have  been  my  noble  friend. 
I  would  not  wound  you,  but  would  have  you  know 
That  better  men  than  Maximilian 
Have  died  for  lesser  crimes. 

(Enter  Juarez  with  soldiers.    Dawn  has  gradually 
opened  and  it  is  now  broad  sunlight) 

Voices.    Juarez !  Juarez !  El  Presidente !  El  Presidente ! 

Jua.  My  men, 

The  town  is  ours,  and  with  it  Mexico. 
Citizens  of  Queretaro,  I  give  you  back 
More  than  your  homes, — your  liberated  country. 

Voices.    Long  live  the  Republic !    Liberty  forever ! 

(Enter  Escobedo) 


154  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Esc.    Your  Excellency  will  see  the  prisoner  ? 

Jtta.    The  illustrious  duke  ?    Ay,  bring  him  here. 

Esc.  He  comes. 

(Enter  Maximilian  under  guard) 

Jua.    Great  duke,  I  grieve  that  I  have  cause  for  joy 
To  see  you  thus.    What  wishes  would  your  grace 
Prefer  to  us  ? 

Max.  I  have  but  one  request, 

Your  excellency.    If  more  blood  must  be  spilt, 
Let  it  be  mine  alone. 

/aa.  We  grant  it,  sir, 

With  two  exceptions  justice  doth  demand. 
Dupin  and  Miramon  must  die  with  you. 
Dupin,  who  put  to  most  ignoble  death 
The  noblest  prisoners  of  righteous  war. 
Dark  Miramon,  whose  cowardly  ambition 
Has  sunk  his  country  in  her  own  dear  blood, 
And  would  do  so  again  did  life  permit 
Him  opportunity.    And  you,  my  lord, 
Who  signed  the  foulest,  most  inhuman  law 
Writ  down  since  Roman  Sulla's  hand  grew  cold. 

Princess  S.    O  spare  him !    Spare  him,  sir !     He  was 

deceived 
By  treacherous  ministers ! 

Jua.  His  ministers 

Were  but  his  many  hands,  and  for  their  deeds 
His  heart  must  answer. 

Princess  S.  O  could  you  know  that  heart ! 

Max.    Dear  lady,  peace. 

Princess  S.  Beloved  majesty, 

I  speak  for  her  who  prays  beyond  the  sea. 
.  .  O,  sir,  you  can  not  mean  that  he  must  die ! 
Help  me,  Aseffa !    Help  me  plead  for  him ! 
Does  not  your  Rafael  live  ? 

Asef.  He  lives  because 


CARLOTTA  155 

Ignacio  is  dead.     (Juarez  starts)     I  must  be  just. 

Princess  S.    What  has  a  woman's  heart  to  do  with 

justice  ? 
'Tis  mercy  is  its  heavenly  quality! 

Jua.    Is    this    thing  true?     My  boy Speak, 

Rafael. 

.  .  Tears  in  your  eyes.    You  need  not  speak.  My  boy.  .  . 
Ignacio.  .  .  .  Unto  God  I  give  thee !  .  .  . 

Princess  S.  'Tis  right 

That  they  who  would  be  gods  to  others'  woe 
Should  be  proved  human  by  their  own. 

Jua.     (Not  hearing  her)  And  this 

Is  what  so  many  hearts  have  borne  since  first 
The  Austrian  came. 

Princess  S.  O  mercy,  mercy,  sir ! 

By  your  own  woe  show  pity  unto  those 
Whose  hearts  must  bleed  if  Maximilian  dies ! 
Be  merciful !    These  tears  of  mine  are  but 
The  first  few  drops  of  the  unbounded  tide 
That  weeping  as  the  sea  weeps  round  the  world 
Shall  drink  thy  hated  land  if  this  good  man 
Dies  by  your  word !    Be  Christ,  not  man,  and  spare  him! 

Juarez.    Madam,  it  is  the  people  and  the  law 
Demand  this  expiation,  not  Juarez. 
I  grieve  to  see  you  on  your  knees  before  me, 
But  did  each  queen  of  Europe — ay,  and  king, — 
Kneel  in  your  place,  I  could  not  spare  that  life. 

(Silence.  Sobs.  Juarez  signs  to  Escobedo,  who  leads 
prisoners  away.  Dupin's  broad  hat  is  pulled  low.  Mira- 
mon  steps  proudly.  At  exit  Maximilian  turns  and 
salutes  the  people) 

Max.    Mexicans !    Long  live  Mexico ! 

(CURTAIN) 


156  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 


ACT  V. 


Scene  I:    Audience  chamber,   the  Tuileries.     Louis 
Napoleon  alone. 

Lou.    Succeed  or  fail !    However  men  may  run 
The  goal  is  marked.    Yet  will  we  race  with  Fate 
In  forgone  match.    Some  free  of  foot  and  hand, 
Some  stumbling  with  huge  empires  on  our  backs 
Less  certain  than  the  overburdened  ant 
Housing  a  winter  crumb Victoire ! 

(Enter  Secretary) 

Sec.  My  lord. 

Lou.    If  any  dispatch  from  the  West  arrives 
Bring  it  at  once. 

Sec.  Yes,  sire.     (£x/t) 

Lou.  America ! 

Thou  strange,  new  power  where  each  man  is  a  king, 
I  have  obeyed  thy  will.    Pulled  down  my  empire, 
Built  up  that  France  might  the  Atlantic  stride 
And  stand  firm-footed  in  two  worlds.     This  slap 
Upon  the  cheek  imperial  insults 
All  monarchy,  yet  Europe  shrugs  and  smiles, 
When  she  should  blush  to  ruddy  rage  of  war. 

The  West  must  go.  .  .  .  but  here  I'll  be  supreme. 

Austria  and  Prussia  I  urge  again  to  conflict, 

And  promise  aid  to  each,  but  in  my  dream 

They  both  are  doomed  and  France  shall  reign  alone. 

(Enter  Chamberlain) 

Chamb.    Your  majesty,  the  Marechal  Bazaine. 


CARLOTTA  157 

Lou.    Bazaine !    Admit  him. 

(Exit  Chamberlain) 

'Tis  penance  night  with  us, 
And  this  man  is  the  mirror  of  our  conscience, 
Showing  its  foulest  spots. 

(Enter  Bazaine) 

Baz.  Sire,  I  salute  you. 

Now  Paris  is  the  star  that  all  eyes  seek. 
The  Exposition  draws  the  world  to  you, 
Who  glitter  here  as  you  were  made  for  heaven. 

Lou.  Ay, 

Here  we  would  shine  that  none  may  see  our  star 
I '  the  West  grow  dark !  .  .  .  Now  Maximilian  ? 

Baz.    He  will  be  shot. 

Lou.  No  jests !    I  ask  you,  sir, 

What  terms  he  may  arrange  for  freedom. 

Baz.  None. 

Lou.    You  speak  not  to  a  fool. 

Baz.  I  trust  not,  sire. 

Lou.    You  know  the  Mexicans.    Tell  me  the  truth. 

Baz.    I  know  the  Mexicans.    He  will  be  shot. 

Lou.    God,  no !    That  noble  man ! 

Baz.  Pray,  sir,  what  fate 

Had  you  in  mind  for  Maximilian 
When  finding  him  too  true  to  Mexico 
For  your  proud  aims,  you  sent  such  covered  word 
To  one  Bazaine  he  could  but  read  therein 
A  revolution  and  the  Emperor's  fall  ? 

Lou.    I  would  have  spared  his  life. 

Baz.     (Taking  out  paper)    Then  what  means  this  ? 
(Reads)  'France  weeps  no  death  that  brings  her  better 
fortune.' 

Lou.  You  'd  spy  a  warrant  in  the  alphabet 
Did  you  but  wish  to  find  one !  Think  you  that 
Meant  — death? 


158  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Baz.     (Closer)    I  know  it. 

Lou.  What  dare  you  ? 

Baz.  Anything — 

With  this  safe  in  my  pocket.     (Puts  up  paper) 

Lou.  Beware,  Bazaine ! 

Baz.    When  one  so  mighty  as  your  Majesty 
Is  my  protector  ? 

Lou.  You— 

(Enter  Chamberlain) 

Chamb.  The  Count  von  Ostein 

Beseeches  word  with  you. 

Lou.  He's  welcome  to  it. 

(Exit  Chamberlain) 
Adieu,  le  marechal. 

Baz.  My  lord— 

Lou.  Adieu, 

Le  marechal.  (Exit  Bazaine) 

Prussia's  ambassador. 

Now  for  our  role  of  cheat  and  crowned  dissembler. 
O  for  a  throne  where  Truth  might  keep  her  head ! 

(Enter  the  Prussian  Minister) 
Welcome,  my  lord. 

Prus.  Most  gracious  majesty, 

The  foreign  ministers  have  come  in  body 
To  speak  congratulations  and  confirm 
The  triumph  of  the  Exposition. 

Lou.    They  have  our  truest  thanks.    But  first,    my 

lord, 

A  word  in  private  with  you.    Is't  Prussia's  wish 
That  we  withhold  our  aid  from  Mexico  ? 

Prus.    A  question,   sire.      You  know  that    Austria 

threatens. 

Is  France  in  this  the  friend  or  enemy 
To  Prussia  ?    There 's  not  an  inch  of  middle  ground 
To  stand  on.     If  our  foe,  then  pour  your  strength 


CARLOTTA  159 

To  Mexico.    If  friend,  keep  it  at  home, 
Ready  for  Prussia's  need. 

Lou.  To  be  your  friend 

May  cost  some  blood  to  France. 

Prus.  I  've  heard  it  said 

The  left  bank  of  the  Rhine  is  a  fair  country, 
And  worth  a  little  blood. 

Lou.  Enough,  my  lord. 

Let  Prussia  know  she  has  a  friend  in  France, 
And  with  your  sanction  cover  our  retreat 
From  Mexico. 
(Enter  Chamberlain) 

Chamb.          Pardon,  your  majesty. 
The  Empress  of  Mexico  begs  audience. 

Lou.    Carlotta  ?    No ! 

Chamb.  She  presses  urgently 

To  enter. 

Lou.      Here  ?  .   .   We  sent  our  word  to  her 
AtMiramar!  .  .  .  And  yet— she  comes— she's  here. 
....  Admit  the  deputation,  and  summon,  too, 
Our  Empress. 

Chamb.       The  Empress  comes.     (Enter  Eugenie  at- 
tended.   Exit  Chamberlain.    Enter  guards) 

Bug.  I  hear  the  ministers 

Have  come  to  us  with  state  congratulations, 
And  though  unbidden,  I  '11  not  leave  my  chair — 
The  co-seat  of  imperial  dignity — 
Vacant  at  such  a  time. 

Lou.  Welcome,  Eugenie. 

We  were  about  to  summon  you. 

Eug.  Thanks  even 

For  tardy  courtesy. 

Lou.  But  we  have  more 

Than  compliments  to  hear.    Carlotta  waits 
Our  audience. 


160  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Bug.  Carlotta !    I  can  not  see  her !    (Rises) 

Lou.    Nay,  it  -was  you  first  cast  ambitious  eye 
To  Mexico.    Now  see  the  end. 

Bug.  My  lord— 

Lou.    Be  seated,  madam. 

Bug.  You  command  me,  sir  ? 

Lou.    We  do. 

Eug.     (Going)     Come,  ladies ! 

Lou.     (To  guards')  Let  no  one  pass  out ! 

Eug.    France,  sir,  shall  know  this  outrage  ! 

Lou.  When  you  wish 

To  make  it  known. 

(Enter  ambassadors,    Austrian,    Russian,    Italian, 
Belgian,  and  others) 

Rus.  Most  glorious  Majesty ! 

Belg.    Mighty  France ! 

It.  Italy's  savior ! 

Aus.  Christendom's  king! 

Lou.    I  thank  you,  my  good  lords;  but  we're  too 

sad 

To  smile  at  compliments ;  Carlotta  comes 
To  beg  our  power  to  uphold  her  throne, 
Though  Heaven  has  decreed  her  empire's  fall. 
We  ask  you  hear  our  open  clear  defence, 
And  help  set  forth  our  duty,  that  the  Empress 
May  see  our  wisdom  through  our  tears. 

It.  We '11  lend 

Your  Majesty  what  voice  we  can. 

Lou.  I  thank  you. 

(Aside  to  Austrian)      My  lord,   a  word.     The  Prussian 

talons  creep 
Toward  Austria.    France  is  your  friend. 

Aus.  O,  sire ! 

Lou.    If  you  would  have  her  strong  pray  that  no 
sword 


CARLOTTA  161 

Of  hers  be  lost  in  Mexico. 

Aus.  I  will, 

My  lord. 

(Enter  Carlotta,  attended  by  Count  Charles,  Count 
de  Bombellcs,  her  priest,  and  women.  She  goes  to  Louis 
and  would  kneel.  He  takes  her  hand) 

Lou.    An  Empress  must  not  kneel. 

Car.  I'm  still 

An  Empress,  sir  ? 

Lou.  Once  to  have  worn  a  crown 

Is  always  to  be  queen. 

Car.  Sire,  mock  me  not. 

Didst  mean  no  more  than  that  ? 

Lou.  Lady,  you  come 

To  beg  your  empire  ? 

Car.  I  do  not  beg,  Napoleon. 

I  come  to  ask  you  keep  your  sacred  oath, 
But  do  not  make  a  beggar  of  me,  sir, 
Who  was  a  princess  in  my  cradle. 

Lou.  Nay, 

Royal  Carlotta,  if  beggar  here  must  be, 
See  one  in  us  who  sue  your  gentle  patience. 
While  strength  was  ours  to  give  we  gave  it  you, 
But  now  is  France  grown  needy  of  her  troops, 
With  Europe  surging  to  a  conflict  round  her. 

Car.    My  lord— 

Lou.  America  turns  baying  on  us. 

Should  we  make  war  on  one  who  twice  o'ercame 
Our  island  neighbors  when  she  was  but  child 
To  what  she  now  is  grown  ? 

Prus.  Your  majesty, 

'T  would  be  a  folly  for  a  clown,  not  king. 

Car.    America  ?    Easier  to  stop  her  now 
Than  it  will  be  when  she  wears  Mexico 
Like  sword  at  her  right  side.     Austria,  Prussia, 


162  SBMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Strike  you  no  more  at  neighbor  throats,  but  come 
And  win  a  fight  for  God.     Napoleon,  come ! 
There  lies  a  world  that 's  worth  the  price  of  war. 
Whose  swelling  breasts  pour  milk  of  paradise, 
Whose  marble  mountains  wait  the  carver's  hand, 
Whose  valley  arms  ne'er  tire  with  Ceres'  load, 
Whose  crownless  head  awaits  the  diadem 
That  but  divine,  ancestral  dignity 
May  fix  imperishably  upon  it !    A  bride 
For  blessed  Rome !    And  will  you  give  her  up 
To  ravishers  ?    To  enemies  of  the  Church  ? 
To  unclean  hands  ne'er  dipped  in  holy  chrism  ? 

Aus.    The  time's  not  ripe  for  our  united  swords 
To  ransom  her. 

Car.  The  time  is  always  ripe 

For  a  good  deed.    Napoleon,  you  will  come ! 
And  though  you  fail,  failure  will  be  majestic. 
Withdraw  like  frightened  schoolboy  and  you  make 
Your  throne  a  penance  stool  whereon  you  sit 
For  laughter  of  the  nations.     But  come,  and  though 
You  fail,  when  time  has  brought  America 
To  her  full,  greedy  strength,  these  scornful  kings 
Will  then  unite  in  desperate  endeavor 
To  give  your  great  conception  form  and  face, 
And  at  your  tomb  they  '11  lift  their  shaken  crowns 
And  beg  a  pardon  from  your  heart  of  dust ! 

Prus.     (Aside)    He '11  yield  to  her !....  Most  noble 
lady,  we  — 

Car.    I  speak,  sir,  to  Napoleon. 

Lou.  What  help 

Can  Austria  give  ? 

Aus.  Sire,  she  has  many  troubles. 

The  clouds  of  war  threat  her  with  scarlet  flood, 
And  little  strength  has  she  to  spare  abroad 
When  foes  besiege  at  home. 


CARLOTTA  163 

Car.  And  Austria's  chief 

Is  Maximilian's  brother !    It  was  not  so 
That  day  at  Miramar  when  three  proud  crowns 
Took  oath  to  serve  him  in  an  hour  like  this. 
Austria  powerless !    And  Belgium — dead. 
But  France  — Ah,  France,  she  will  prove  noble,  loyal 
To  God  and  honor! 

Lou.  .  My  honor,  dearest  lady, 

Permits  me  not  to  risk  my  country's  life 
That  you  may  wear  a  crown  in  Mexico. 
I  can  not  save  your  empire. 

Car.  Then  let  it  fall, 

But  save — my  husband's  life! 

(Astonishment  and  silence) 

Lou.  You  speak  but  madly. 

America  has  sent  us  guaranties 
She  will  demand  that  Maximilian 
Be  held  but  as  a  prisoner  of  war. 
The  Mexicans  dare  not  proceed  against  him 
Contrary  to  the  mighty  government 
That  is  sole  friend  unto  their  scarce  born  state. 

Car.    America' demands  with  paper  words 
That  can  be  torn  and  laughed  at.    Would  she  save  him  ? 
Let  her  demand  his  life  with  cannon  turned 
Upon  his  murderers.     Then,  sire,  I  '11  trust 
To  their  obedience.    Till  then  I  '11  plead 
With  you.    All  hope  is  here. 

Lou.  Not  so,  dear  lady. 

Italy,  Austria,  and  your  Belgium, 
Have  sent  their  ablest  counsel  to  defend  him. 

Car.    Troops,  troops,  my  lord,  not  wordy  men  of  law, 
Are  his  sole  need.     Should  God  send  angels  there 
He'd  choose  but  those  who  bear  the  flaming  sword. 
.  .  Here,  here,  my  lords !    Look  here !    His  guaranties, 
In  his  own  hand  set  down !     Here  he  vows  faith 


164  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

To  Maximilian — and  to  Heaven !    Hear ! 
'  I,  Louis  Napoleon,  take  solemn  oath 
Upon  the  honor  of  a  man  and  king — ' 
Shall  I  go  on,  my  lord  ?    Have  you  forgot  ? 
Then  let  my  tongue  be  as  a  burning  pen 
To  write  it  new  upon  your  heart ! 

Lou.  No!  no! 

In  God's  name,  no ! 

Aus.  Dear  lady,  this  is  torture. 

Car.    Torture  for  you  ? — for  him  ?    Then  what  is  it 
For  me,  my  lord  ? 

Pras.  Wouldst  have  his  majesty 

False  to  his  country  to  be  true  to  you  ? 

Aus.    The  oath  he  took  was,  by  the  courtesy 
Of  nations,  subject  to  the  change  that  time 
Visits  on  countries  as  on  men. 

Car.  You'd  win 

His  sword  from  me  that  you  may  use  it !    Sirs, 
He  plays  you  'gainst  each  other  as  the  eagle 
Sets  ospreys  in  contention  over  prey 
That  he  may  filch  the  prize ! 

Lou.  Carlotta ! 

Car.  Be  warned! 

He  '11  know  no  ease  till  in  your  capitals 
He  has  re-crowned  the  great  Napoleon ! 

Lou.    Nay  — 

Car.    Stop  me  not !    Here  you  shall  stand  as  bare 
To  these  men's  eyes  as  you  do  to  my  own ! 

Lou.    My  lords,  you  will  not  let  her  troubled  mind 
Weaken  your  trust  in  me  ? 

Pras.  Your  majesty, 

We  know  you  noble. 

Car.  Noble !    Napoleon, 

This  wondrous  city  is  aflame  with  joy, 
The  blazing  fires  now  dart  aloft  and  write 


CARLOTTA  165 

In  golden  light  your  name  upon  the  skies, 
But  in  your  heart  will  burn  a  torch  of  hell 
Unquenchable,  if  you  deny  me  aid ! 

Lou.    Dear  madam,  pray  believe  that  I  am  helpless. 

Car.    You  are  as  strong  as  France.     Eugenie,  help 

me! 

If  e'er  you  held  a  dear  head  on  your  breast — 
You  have ! — for  you  've  both  son  and  husband !    Ah, 
I  have  no  child.    My  lord  is  all  to  me. 

0  put  your  two  in  one  and  you  will  know 
What  now  I  plead  for !    By  the  kisses  dropped 
Upon  your  baby's  cheek,  and  by  the  hope 
That  you  will  see  him  grow  up  at  your  side. 
Another  self  with  heart-strings  round  your  own, 

1  pray  you,  lady,  soften  that  stone  heart ! 

I  kneel  to  you,  an  empress  though  my  crown 

Has  fallen,  as  yours  I  pray  will  not, 

And  at  }rour  footstool  beg  my  husband's  life! 

(Eugenie  rises) 

By  your  child's  love,  I  beg  you  for  one  word ! 
Help  me,  Eugenie,  or  the  day  will  come 
When  you  will  know  a  crown  is  but  a  band 
Of  metal  cold,  and  one  warm  kiss  more  dear 
Than  all  such  circling  glory !    When  you  will  grow 
Mad  with  the  longing  but  to  touch  the  hand 
Now  lies  in  yours  as  it  would  never  part, 
Strain  for  the  face  whose  beauty  fed  you  once 
Until  your  madness  builds  it  out  of  air 
To  gaze  with  sweet  unhuman  pity  on  you 
Yet  come  not  near  for  kisses !      O,  even  now 
I  look  through  sealed  up  time  unto  a  night 
When  sleep  will  fly  from  your  woe-drowndd  eyes, 
And  you  will  cry  to  Heaven  for  blessed  death 
To  lead  you  from  the  midnight  desolation ! 
Eugenie,  save  thyself!    For  thy  own  sake 


166  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Show  pity  unto  me,  and  in  that  hour 
Receive  the  mercy  that  thou  now  dost  give ! 

Bug.     (Going)   Help  me!  I 'mill!    (Her  women  assist 
her  out) 

Car.  Gone !    Gone  ?    And  yet  a  woman ! 

Ah,  there 's  a  God  will  suffer  not  this  wrong ! 
.  .  .  Napoleon  — 

Lou.  Nay,  madam,  we've  said  all. 

I  can  not  cast  my  country  into  war. 
You  but  fatigue  yourself. 

Car.  O  Heaven !    Fatigue ! 

Canst  think  of  that  when  Maximilian 
Is  facing  bayonets  for  honor's  sake  ? 

Lou.    Believe  me,  he  is  safe ! 

Car.  I  tell  you  no ! 

To-day  the  guns  from  Mont  Valerien 
Pealed  out  your  glory !    Your  arm  was  in  the  arm 
Of  Prussia's  monarch,  and  Waterloo  forgot! 
You  laughed  with  Austria's  chief,  as  though  the  duke 
Of  Reichstadt  were  not  dead !    The  bloody  snows 
Of  Moscow  melt  in  Alexander's  smile! 
Edward's  in  France,  St.  Helena's  a  myth ! 
And  all  the  world  is  trooping  here  to  feed 
Your  monstrous  vanity !    But  let  the  morn 
Bring  news  of  Maximilian's  death, 
These  kings  will  shudder  from  you  as  from  plague, 
The  conscious  earth  refuse  your  feet  a  base 
For  shame  to  bear  you !    Then  will  begin  your  fall. 
Down,  down  you  '11  creep  to  an  unpitied  death, 
And  winds  that  shriek  around  your  exile  bed 
Will  cry  me  prophetess ! 

Lou.     (After  a  silence)    Your  audience 
Is  over.    Pray  go  and  rest.    You  need  much  sleep. 

Car.    A  woman  sleeps  not  till  her  heart  is  safe. 
My  eyes  shall  not  be  closed  till  I  've  your  answer. 


CARLOTTA  167 

Lou.     You  have  it,  lady,  and  we  beg  you  leave  us. 

Car.    Leave !  leave !    O  sir,  it  is  a  lie  I  hear !     (Falls 
at  his  feet) 
You  did  not  say  it !    See !    I  kiss  your  feet !    O  sir — 

Lou.     (Withdrawing)     You  put  us  to  discourtesy. 
Since  you  will  not  withdraw,  we  leave  you. 

Car.     (Leaping  up)  Coward ! 

Then,  Louis  Napoleon,  Emperor  of  France ! 
Thou  art  a  murderer,  and  I  have  kissed 
The  devil's  hoof!     (Exit  Napoleon) 

(Carlotta   stands   dazed,    looking  after   Napoleon 
Puts  her  hand  over  her  eyes.   Count  Charles  goes  to  her) 

Char.    Dear   madam,  come  with  me.      (She   looks 
about  bewildered) 

One  of  her  women.  Your  majesty, 

We  pray  you  come. 

Car.     (Strangely)     Yes— yes—    I '11  go.    Away! 

(Exit  with  her  attendants) 

Aus.    A  gloomy  business,  truly. 

Prus.  'T  has  wrought  upon  me. 

(Re-enter  Napoleon) 

Lou.    My  lords,  believe  me  grateful  for  your  help 
In  this  most  wretched  business. 

(Enter  Secretary) 

Sec.    A  dispatch,  sire,  from  Mexico. 

Lou.  We  '11  hear  it. 

All  here  should  share  this  news  with  me. 

Sec.  'T  is  short, 

Your  majesty. 

Lou.  The  sooner  read.    We  wait. 

Sec.     (Reads)      'By  order  of  Juarez,  the  Austrian 
duke,  Ferdinand  Maximilian,  has  been  shot.' 

(Silence.    Napoleon  groans) 

It.    It  can't  be  true ! 

Bel  'T  is  false !    I  '11  not  believe  it ! 


168  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Pros.    Grieve  not,  your  Majesty.    This  is  a  mock 
Dispatch. 

Aus.  A  noble  archduke !  Bound  by  ties 
Of  blood  and  love  to  every  court  of  Europe ! 
Believe  this  not,  my  lord ! 

Sec.  Your  Majesty, 

This  second  message  from  America 
Confirms  the  other. 

Lou.    'T  is  true !    My  God,  't  is  true ! 

It.    Carlotta!    Who  will  tell  her  ? 

Lou.  None  shall  do  it ! 

She  must  not  know. 

Rus.  Pardon  me,  sire,  she  must. 

Lou.    Then   his  death  bullet   has    not  stopped  its 

flight. 
'Twill  end  but  in  her  heart. 

(Re-enter  Count  Charles.  Napoleon  silently  gives  him 
the  despatch,  which  he  reads  with  great  agitation) 

Char.     (To  himself)    O  terrible !    And  yet 
No  news  to  me — to  me. 

Lou.  You '11  tell  her,  sir? 

Char.    There  is  no  need,  my  lord.    Her  reason 's  fled. 
She's  mad. 

Bel.  'Tis  Heaven's  mercy! 

It.  Unhappy  woman! 

Char.    She  is  not  wild,  but  gentle,  and  thinks,  my 

lord, 
You've  granted  her  request. 

Lou.  Noble  Carlotta! 

My  lords,  forbear  awhile.    I'd  be  alone. 

It.    God  grant  you  rest. 

(All  go  out  but  Napoleon) 

Lou.    These  kings  I've  called  here  to  a  dance  must 

lead 
A  funeral.    What  can  I  say  to  them  ? 


CARLOTTA  169 

To  Austria — his  brother !    England — his  own  cousin ! 
To  Belgium— her  brother!    Spain—    O,  all 

The  world,  that  loved  him ! An  Emperor — and 

shot. 

(Musical  procession  passes  in   street.     Shouts    of 
1  Vive  Pempereur  !    Vive  /'  empereur  ! ' ) 
He  too  heard  shouts  like  those — saw  fires  ascend 
To  write  his  triumph — ay  —  and  he  is  cold — 

Quite  cold— shot  dead Carlotta!  prophetess! 

I  feel — I  know — thy  oracle's  from  God! 

(Fa/7s  at  the  foot  of  the  imperial  chair) 

(CURTAIN) 


Scene  II: — Miramar.  A  balcony  overlooking  the  sea. 
Lady  Maria  alone. 

Mar.    Here  they  went  out  together — arm  in  arm, — 
Sweet,  healing  spirits  to  a  bleeding  land. 
Down  yonder  terrace  to  the  sea  they  passed,  — 
He  unto  death,  and  she— to—  (Sighs  deeply) 

Car.     (Without)  Cousin! 

Mar.  Ah! 

(Turns  smiling  to  greet  Carlotta  who  enters  carrying 
flowers) 
So  early  out  ?    What  treasures  have  you  there  ? 

Car.    The  sweetest  flowers  that  ever  peeped  up  head. 
They  grow  along  the  path  in  that  dear  wood 
Where  Maximilian  took  me  gypsying 
When  we  grew  weary  of  the  world. 

Mar.  I'm  sure 

That  was  not  often. 

Car.  True.    We  loved  too  well 

Our  work  among  the  people  to  hide  ourselves 
In  little  corners  of  delight.    But  oh,  those  times ! 


170          SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

How  he  would  catch  me  as  I  ran  and  say 

His  little  wild-girl  with  her  flower  crown 

Was  dearer  than  his  princess  ermine-gowned. 

And  so  I  '11  wreathe  these  buds  into  my  hair, 

And  meet  him  as  he  loved  me  best.     (Goes  to  edge  of 

the  balcony  and  looks  to  sea)  To-day ! 

This  blessed,  beauteous  day  our  eyes  shall  see  him ! 
(Drops  flowers  in  trance  of  happiness) 
Mar.    Sweet  Empress- 
es. Empress  ?    No !    To-day  1  am 

His  little  wild-girl  with  her  wreath  of  flowers. 

O,  I  must  make  my  crown !    Now,  now,  how  careless ! 
(Picks  up  flowers,  sits  and  weaves  them) 

You  see  this  flower  ? 

Mar.  'T  is  very  beautiful. 

What  is  it  ? 

Car.          I  've  seen  it  only  in  our  wood. 

Maximilian  says  it  grows  but  for  my  hair.     (Sings) 

In  a  young,  sweet  hour  of  Spring 
I  sat  'neath  an  old  tree  to  sing 

Of  love,  only  love  ! 
The  little  brook  took  up  my  tune 
And  to  his  soft  green  banks  did  croon, 
The  green  grass  rippled  to  the  tree 
And  every  leaf  shook  melody 

Of  love,  only  love! 
And  then  the  birds  that  flitted  by 
Told  it  the  clouds  that  told  the  sky, 
And  all  the  world  to  song  did  start 
With  what  I  sang  but  to  my  heart ! 
Ay,  all  the  world  sang  back  to  me 
A  little  maiden  'neath  a  tree 

Of  love,  only  love  ! 

(Puts  down  flowers  and  goes  to  Lady  Maria) 


CARLOTTA  171 

Ah,  cousin,  do  you  think  he  '11  be  delayed  ? 

Mar.    Dear  madam,  I  fear  me  so. 

Car.    These  ships !  these  ships ! 

How  slow  their  wings  when  they  do  bear  our  loved  ones ! 
The  wandering  treasures  of  our  empty  arms ! 
The  western  waters  must  have  sirens  too, 
And  will  not  let  him  pass. 

Mar.  Indeed  they  would  not, 

Did  they  but  know  what  majesty  is  in  him. 

Car.     (Embracing  her)    O  help  me  love  him,  dear, 
My  heart 's  too  small. 

(Enter  Count  Charles) 

Char.    A  message. 

Car.  Oh !  a  message !    I  do  no',  want 

A  message. 

Char.    The  admiral  of  the  port  has  word 
The  Emperor's  ship's  delayed. 

Car.  Why,  we'll  not  weep 

'Tis  but  a  day (Goes  forward,  looking  out) 

To-morrow,  then — to-morrow! 
(To  Lady  Maria)    Why  do  you  weep  ?    A  day 's  not 
worth  a  tear. 

See,  I  can  smile ! But  my  poor  flowers  will  fade. 

I  plucked  them  all No  more  grow  by  the  path.  .  . 

(Suddenly)     Cousin,  why  wear  you  black  ? 

Mar.     (Confused)  I  — madam— I  — 

Car.    Such  sable  hues  for  this  so  rosy  day  ? 
Go  dress  your  body  like  our  happy  hearts ! 
Dost  think  a  coffin  comes  across  the  sea  ? 
A  coffin  —  (Shudders)    Go  !    I  can  not  bear  this  black ! 

(Exit  Lady  Maria) 

I  am  displeased.    Have  I  not  reason,  Charles  ? 
'T  was  very  wrong  of  her  to  dress  in  black 
When  Maximilian  comes.     I  will  go  in. 
I  'm  tired — but  I  am  very  happy.    Ah !     (Exit) 


172  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER   PLAYS 

Char.    O  wounded  heart !  Thus  every  day  she  hopes, 
And  every  day  begins  her  hope  anew. 
It  is  my  penance  now  to  watch  her  sorrow, 
To  guard  perfection's  wreck  in  her  sad  body, 
And  hear  the  name  of  Maximilian  fall 
Each  moment  from  her  lips.    O,  God,  remember 
When  once  I  am  in  hell,  I  've  suffered  here ! 

(Re-enter  Carlotta) 

Car.    I  can  not  stay  away.    This  is  my  place. 
Here  will  I  catch  the  first  light  on  his  sail. 
O  Charles,  dear  Charles,  to-morrow  we  shall  see  him ! 
Look  in  his  noble  eyes,  —  ah  me,  what  eyes ! 
Dost  not  remember  ?    Talk  of  him,  cousin. 
It  brings  him  faster  to  me.    My  heart !  my  heart ! 
This  waiting  breaks  it  though  'tis  but  a  day ! 
An  hour  that  keeps  him  from  me  lengthens  like 
The  drawn  out  ages  'tween  the  ends  of  time! 
But  oh,  to-morrow !    Let  me  think  of  that ! 
Then  will  the  small  globe  of  mine  eye  contain 
The  wide  and  complete  world  of  my  desires ! 
.  .  .  Have  you  forgot  Aseffa  ?    You  do  not  speak ; 
But  you  have  not  forgot.    She  said — Oh,  cruel !  — 
That  he,  my  Maximilian,  should  lie  cold 
While  yet  my  arms  were  warm  and  reaching  for  him. 
How  could  she  say  it  ?    But  you  stood  by  him — you  — 
His  faithful  friend.    You  knew  'twould  ne'er  be  true! 
.  .  .  Do  you  remember,  Charles,  the  winter  day 
He  climbed  to  Valtelina's  ice-bound  huts 
To  bear  the  starving  people  food  ? 

Char.  Yes — yes! 

'Tis  my  sole  virtue  to  remember  his ! 

Car.    And  when  the  flooding  Ambro  left  her  banks, 
Rolling  a  very  sea  o'er  farm  and  town, 
Who  was  the  first  to  ride  the  dangerous  waves, 
A  rescuing  angel  saving  man  and  child  ? 


CARLOTTA  173 

Char.    'T  was  Maximilian ! 

Car.  Yes,  our  Maximilian. 

I  feared  the  Mexicans  would  take  his  life. 
Was  not  that  foolish,  cousin  ?    I  should  have  known 
God  could  not  spare  him  from  His  world.    Hast  heard 
The  men  of  Licio  tell  how  he  was  first 
To  bring  them  aid  when  all  their  silkworms  died 
And  silence  struck  the  looms  that  gave  them  food  ? 
This  man  will  say  '  I  have  a  son  alive 
Because  of  Maximilian ! '    And  that  will  say 
'  I  have  a  daughter  now  to  tend  my  age, 
Because  the  Lombard  governor  brought  bread 
Unto  her  cradle.'     .  .  .  And  he  is  coming  back. 
.  .  Beautiful  Miramar !    We  '11  never  leave  thee, 
Though  stars  should  beckon  to  a  golden  world ! 
To-morrow  he'll  come!     Maximilian!     (Holds  out  her 
arms  toward  the  sea,  looking-  radiantly  into  distance) 

C harles !     (Turns  suddenly,  laying  her 
hand  on  his  arm) 
Look !    What  men  are  those  ?    Do  you  not  see  them  ? 

Char.    There's    nothing,  cousin,  —  nothing  but  the 
sea. 

Car.    Oh,  look !    They  wear  the  Mexican  dress ! 

Char.  Come  in, 

Sweet  princess ! 

Car.  Ah  yes,  they're  Mexicans. 

Char.  Come ! 

You  've  had  some  fever.    'Tis  a  sick-room  vision. 

Car.    No,  no !    I'm  well !    Ah,  never  in  such  health ! 
I  see  like  God !    O  look !    A  score  of  them ! 
Moving  but  silent  as  death !    Where  are  they  marching  ? 
The  sun  gleams  on  their  guns !    O  see,  Charles,  see ! 
There  is  a  prisoner !    Poor  man !  poor  man ! 
I  can  not  see  his  face.    He  walks  most  sadly,  — 
And  proudly  too  !    An  upright  soul,  I  know ! 


174  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Char.    Dear  cousin,  come  away ! 

Car.  He's  humbly  dressed, 

And  but  for  that  I  'd  think  he  might  be  royal, 
Ah,  royal  as  Maximilian !    O  Charles, 
I  am  so  glad  he's  safe  upon  the  sea ! 
Safe — safe — and  coming  to  me ! 

Char.     (Most  pleadingly)    Come,  wait  within, 
Dear  princess !    Come ! 

Car.  I  will  not  leave  him !    No ! 

The  poor,  sad  prisoner !    Those  cruel  weapons ! 
I  fear — I  fear — he  is  condemned  to  die. 
.  .  Perhaps  he  has  a  wife.    Ah  me,  I  pray  not. 
Then  would  be  tears !    He  is  a  noble  man, — 

But  still  his  face  is  from  me They  reach  the  field. 

The  soldiers  halt  and  lift  their  guns.  O  how  they  gleam ! 

.  .     I  can  not  see.  .  .  Why  is  the  face  so  dim  ? 

Will  no  one  save  him  ?    Let  us  pray  for  him ! 

We  can  do  that !    Down  on  our  knees  and  pray ! 

O  men,  men,  men !    What  sin  beneath  the  sun 

Can  give  excuse  for  such  a  deed  as  this? 

O,  Heaven,  are  you  looking  too  ?    A  man 

So  noble !    Oh,  he  turns — he  turns — his  breast 

Is  to  the  weapons !    Now  they  fire !    He  falls ! 

His  face!     (Gives  a  wild  cry)   Oh  God!  'tis  Maximilian  ! 

(Falls  forward  on  her  face) 

(CURTAIN) 


THE  POET 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  1.    Helen's    room,     Truelord    house, 
New  York. 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  1.    Exterior  of  Clemm  cottage,  near 
Richmond. 

ACT  III. 

SCENE  1.    Interior  of  Clemm  cottage. 
SCENE  2.    The  Same. 

ACT  IV. 

SCENE  1.    An  old  book  store,  New  York. 
SCENE  2.    Poe's  cottage,  Fordham. 

ACT  V. 

SCENE  1.    Poe's  lodging,  Baltimore. 
SCENE  2.    A  bar-room. 


CHARACTERS 


EDGAR  ALLAN  POE 
VIRGINIA  CLEMM 
MRS.  MARIA  CLEMM 
HELEN  TRUELORD 
MRS.  TRUELORD 
ROGER  BRIDGMORE 
NELSON  CLEMM 
MRS.  DELORMIS 
DOCTOR  BARLOW 
MRS.  SCHMIDT 
GEORGE  THOMAS,  Barkeeper 
HAINES,  JUGGERS,  SHARP,  BLACK,  gamblers 
BOOKSELLER 

MUM  ZURIE,  TAT,  BONY,  servants  at  Clemm  cottage. 
Gertrude,  Mabel,  Annie,    Sallie,    Dora,    Gladys,  Ethel, 
Alma,  Allie,  friends  of  Virginia. 


THE  POET 


ACT  I. 


Scene :  Room  in  the  Truelord  House.  Helen  lies  on  a 
couch  before  large  windows,  rear,  reading  by  light  from 
a  small  lamp  on  table  near  couch.  She  wears  a  loose 
robe  over  night-dress. 

A  light  knock  is  heard  at  door,  left  centre. 

Hel.     (Sitting  up)     Mamma  ? 

Voice.    Yes,  dear. 

Hel.  (Kissing  book  and  closing  it)  Good-bye,  my 
poet !  (Drops  book  on  couch  and  goes  to  door) 

Voice,  as  Helen  opens  door.  I  saw  your  light.  (Enter 
Mrs.  Truelord)  Forgive  me,  love.  I  could  not  rest. 
(Helen  is  closing-  door)  No !  Kate  is  coming. 

Mrs.  Delormis.     (Indoor)   Yes,  I'm  here,  too,  Helen. 

Hel.    Come  in,  Cousin  Catherine. 

(All  three  advance) 

Mrs.  Del.  Madela  had  a  feminine  version  of  the  jim- 
jams —  tea- nerves,  }rou  know — so  must  get  us  both  up. 


180  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Hel.  (Drawing  forward  a  huge  chair  for  Mrs. 
Truelord  while  Mrs.  Delormis  takes  a  smaller  one)  I 
was  not  in  bed. 

Mrs.  Tru.  (Looking  toward  bed  in  alcove,  right) 
But  you  have  been!  You  could  not  sleep  either.  Ah! 

(Sighs  deeply) 

Hel.     (Goes  to  couch)    Now,  mamma ! 

Mrs.  Tru.  (Embarrassed  by  Helen's  straight- 
forward look)  Helen  —  I  —  I've  just  got  to  have  it  out 
to-night.  You  are  only  my  step-daughter,  but  I've 
loved  you  like  my  own. 

Hel.     (Quaintly)    Yes. 

Mrs.  Tru.  Have  n't  I  always  treated  you  as  if  you 
were  my  daughter  born  ? 

Hel.     (Slowly)     You  have  indeed  ! 

Mrs.  Tru.  And  I  can't  bear  for  you  to  —  to —  O,  I 
just  can't  bear  it,  I  say! 

Hel.    Bear  what,  mamma  ? 

Mrs.  Tru.    This— this  man— 

Mrs.  Del.    Edgar  Poe,  Helen. 

Mrs.  Tru.  You  are  going  to  give  up  Roger — Roger 
who  has  worshipped  you  since  you  were  ababy,  who  has 
lived  under  the  same  roof  and  been  a  brother  to  you 
since  you  were  two  years  old — you  are  going  to  give  him 
up  for  a.  strange  man  —  a  man  without  a  penny  —  a  man 
you  have  seen  but  once — (Almost  shrieking) — but  once 
—(Rising) 

Hel.  (Crosses,  and  stands  before  her,  speaking 
calmly)  We  know  angels  at  first  sight,  mamma. 

Mrs.  Tru.  (Grabbing  Helen  by  the  shoulders  and 
staring  at  her)  You  have  done  it  already !  (Falls  to 
chair  as  if  fainting) 

Hel.  Soothe  her,  Catherine.  I  will  get  some  wine. 
(Exit) 

Mrs.  Tru.     (Sitting  up,  at  once  recovered)      She's 


THE  POET  181 

made  up  her  mind.  When  her  eyes  shine  like  that  it's  no 
use  to  argue.  And  all  of  Roger's  fortune  in  Mr.  True- 
lord's  hands !  We  've  considered  it  a  family  resource  for 
years ! 

Mrs.  Del.  What  a  fool  Roger  was  to  bring  Edgar 
Poe  to  the  house ! 

Mrs.  Tru.  He 's  crazy  about  the  man.  Says  he's  a 
genius,  and  all  that  stuff. 

Mrs.  Del.  Well,  he  is.  But  to  introduce  him  to  a 
girl  like  Helen !  They  '11  be  off  before  morning ! 

Mrs.  Tru.  Oh-h!  Don't,  Kate!  Roger  actually 
wants  me  to  ask  him  to  stay  in  the  house. 

Mrs.  Del.  Idiot !  He  deserves  to  lose  her.  .  .  .  But 
your  guest !  (Laughs)  Poor  Madela !  How  he  would 
upset  your  nice,  comfortable  theories  of  life!  Why,  you 
couldn't  hand  him  a  cup  of  tea  without  feeling  the  planet 
quake. 

Mrs.  Tru.  But  what  are  we  to  do  ?  Kate,  you  must 
help  me. 

Mrs.  Del.  I'm  going  to.  You  can't  tell  her  father, 
because  Helen  must  be  persuaded,  not  opposed.  And 
don't  speak  about  the  money.  If  she  loved  a  beggar  she 
would  trudge  barefoot  behind  him. 

Mrs.  Tru.     (Despairingly)     O,  don't  I  know  it  ? 

Mrs.  Del.  Now  }rou  leave  this  to  me,  Madela.  I  will 
say  a  few  things  to  Helen  about  meeting  Mr.  Poe  in 
Europe — and  —  you  know  — 

Mrs.  Tru.  (Kissing  her  violently)  O,  Kate !  Tell 
her  all  —  and  more,  if  necessary!  Don't  think  about 
your  reputation  if  you  can  save  Roger's  fortune  — 

Mrs.  Del.    Sh!  — 

(Enter  Helen,  with  wine  and  a  glass) 

Mrs.  Tru.  (Feebly)  Thank  you,  dear,  but  I  'm  bet- 
ter now.  (Rising)  I  '11  try  to  rest.  (Goes  to  door) 

Hel.    I  would  see  you  to  your  room,  mamma,  but 


182  SBMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

I'm  sure  you  would  rather  have  Catherine.  (Mrs.  Del- 
ormis  makes  no  move  to  go) 

Mrs.  Trtt.  O,  I  am  quite  well  —  I  mean  —  I  need  no 
one— no  one  at  all!  Goodnight,  my  dears!  (Exit) 

Hel.  (Politely)  And  is  there  anything  which  you 
must  have  out  to-night,  cousin  Catherine  ? 

Mrs.  Del.  Sit  down,  Helen.  (Helen  takes  a  chair) 
You  have  never  loved  me,  but  I  have  always  had  a  warm 
heart  for  you,  little  girl.  And  you  will  take  a  warning 
from  me  in  good  part,  won't  you  ? 

Hel.    A  good  warning,  yes. 

Mrs.  Del.  I  told  you  about  meeting  Mr.  Poe  last 
summer  in  Normandy.  But — I  did  not  tell  you  how 
often  I  met  him.  (Helen  rises,  then  Mrs.  Delormis  rises) 
Helen,  I  prove  my  love  for  you  by  saying  what  it  is  so 
hard  to  utter  to  your  pure  self.  My  life  has  not  been  — 
all  you  would  wish  it  to  be  —  and  Mr.  Poe  knows  more 
about  it  than  any  other  man. 

Hel.    You  lie !    I  have  seen  his  soul ! 

(She  goes  to  door  and  opens  it  for  Mrs.  Delormis  to 
pass  out.  Mrs.  Delormis  sweeps  through  with  an  at- 
tempt at  majesty) 

Hel.  (Motionless  with  clenched  hands)  Wicked, 
wicked  woman!  ...  .  (Goes  to  window,  rear,  opens  it, 
draws  long  breaths  as  if  stifling,  and  turns  back  into 
room)  Edgar !  My  love !  I  was  a  thing  of  clay.  One 
look  from  your  eyes  has  made  me  a  being  of  fire  and  air. 
....  (Lies  down  on  couch  and  takes  up  her  book)  .  .  . 
I  can  not  read.  .  .  or  sleep.  ...  or  pray.  There 's  too 

much  whirling  in  my  heart  for  prayer (Starts) 

What  moan  is  that?  .  .  (Rises,  takes  light  from  table, 
goes  to  window,  leans  out,  casting  the  rays  down) 
Nothing.  .  .  .  I'm  fanciful.  .  .  The  moon  is  rising.  (Goes 
back,  putting  light  on  table)  O,  Edgar !  God  help  me 
to  be  what  love  must  be  to  thee.  Love  that  can  look 


THE  POET  183 

on  miracles  and  be  sane.  What  a  face  when  he  said 
goodnight!  Like  an  angel's  whose  immortality  is  his 
wound.  .  .  .  Poor  Roger!  ....  What  will  my  father 

say  ? (Moonlight  floods  the  window)  Welcome, 

soft  nurse  of  dreams!  (Extinguishes  lamp)  A  little 

rest Ah,  I  know  he  does  not  sleep 

(She  lies  on  couch  in  the  moonlight,  her  eyes  closed.  Poe 
enters  by  window,  gazes  at  her,  and  throws  up  his  arms 
in  gesture  of  prayer) 

Hel.  (Looking  up,  and  springing  to  her  feet)  Edgar! 
My  God,  you  must  not  come  here ! 

Poe.    Is  this  love's  welcome  ? 

Hel.    Go !  go ! 

Poe.    I  was  dying  out  there. 

Hel.    Leave  me ! 

Poe.  Life  was  passing  from  my  veins.  Only  your 
eyes  could  draw  back  the  ebbing  flood. 

Hel.    I  will  light  the  lamp !     (Turns  hastily) 

Poe.    And  put  out  Heaven's !     (She  drops  her  hand) 

Hel.    Go,  O  go  at  once ! 

Poe.  Again  I  am  alone !  The  twin  angel  who  put 
her  hand  in  mine  is  flown ! 

Hel.    Edgar,  be  calm ! 

Poe.  Calm !  With  such  a  look  from  you  burning 
me  as  if  I  were  a  devil  to  be  branded  ?  Such  words  from 
you  hissing  like  snakes  through  my  brain  ? 

Hel.    0,1  beg  you  — 

Poe.  I  would  but  touch  the  hand  that  soothes  my 
blood  —  look  in  the  eyes  that  wrap  my  soul  in  balm — and 
you  cry  out  as  though  some  barbarous  infidel  had  tram- 
pled you  at  prayers ! 

Hel.    My  father — Roger  —  they  will  not  understand. 

Poe.  O,  you  would  bring  the  world  in  to  say  how 
and  when  we  shall  love !  Take  note  of  the  hour,  and 
kiss  by  the  clock !  Great  love  is  like  death,  Helen.  It 


184  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

knows  no  time  of  day.  If  a  man  were  dying  at  your 
gates  would  you  keep  from  him  because  'twas  midnight 
and  not  noon,  and  you  were  robed  for  sleep  ?  It  was 
your  soul  I  sought.  Must  you  array  that  to  receive  me  ? 
O,  these  women!  On  Resurrection  day  they'll  not  get 
up  unless  their  clothes  are  called  with  them  from  the 
dust !  '  Excuse  me,  God,  and  send  a  dressmaker ! '  Ha ! 
ha !  ha !  ( Walks  the  floor  in  maniac  humor) 

Hel.    Edgar,  for  love's  sake  hear  me ! 

Poe.    Speak  loud  if  you  would  drown  the  winds ! 

Hel.    Listen! 

Poe.  (Turning  upon  her)  If  my  body  bled  at  your 
feet  you  would  stoop  to  me,  but  when  my  spirit  lies  in 
flames  you  cry  'Don't  writhe!  Don't  be  a  spectacle!' 

Hel.  (Putting  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  speak- 
ing steadily)  The  spirit  does  not  murmur.  Only  the 
body  cries. 

Poe.     (Calming)    Forgive  me,  Helen ! 

Hel.  Yes,  love.  (Draws  him  to  couch  and  sits  by 
him  soothingly)  .  .  O,  your  forehead  is  on  fire. 

Poe.  No  wonder,  when  I  have  just  come  out  of  hell. 

.  .  .  Keep  your  cool  hand  over  my  eyes O,  this 

is  peace!  .  .  .  (Takes  her  hand  from  his  forehead  and 
holds  it)  I  made  you  a  song  out  there,  in  the  darkness. 
I  was  fainting  for  one  gleam  of  light  when  you  opened 
the  window  and  stood  as  beautiful  as  Psyche  leaning  to 
the  god  of  love.  Listen.  .  and  believe  that  my  heart  was 
as  pure  as  the  lines.  (Sings  softly) 


Helen,  thy  beauty  is  to  me 
Like  those  Nicean  barks  of  yore 

That  gently  o'er  a  perfumed  sea 
The  weary,  wayworn  wanderer  bore 
To  his  own  native  shore. 


THE  POET  185 

On  desperate  seas  long  wont  to  roam, 
Thy  hyacinth  hair,  thy  classic  face, 

Thy  Naiad  airs,  have  brought  me  home 
To  the  glory  that  was  Greece 

And  the  grandeur  that  was  Rome. 

Lo,  in  yon  brilliant  window-niche 
How  statue-like  I  see  thee  stand, 
An  agate  lamp  within  thy  hand,  — 

Ah  I    Psyche,  from  the  regions  which 
Are  holy-land  ! 

(Drops  his  head  to  her  hand  and  kisses  it  gently) 

Hel.  Edgar,  my  life  shall  be  my  song  to  thee.  (They 
are  silent  for  a  second.  His  hand  touches  her  book) 

Poe.  A  book !  Who  could  write  for  such  an  hour  ? 
(Holds  book  in  moonlight)  Shelley  !  Lark  of  the  world  ! 
You  would  know !  .  .  You  will  give  me  this  book,  Helen  ? 

HeJ.     It  is  precious.    You  will  love  it  ? 

Poe.  Always !  (Kisses  book,  and  puts  it  inside  his 
coat.  Taking  her  hand)  O,  all  our  life  shall  be  a  happy 
wonder !  Wilt  lie  with  me  on  summer  hills  where  pipings 
of  dim  Arcady  fall  like  Apollo's  mantle  on  the  soul  ?  Dost 
know  that  silence  full  of  thoughts? — and  then  the 
swelling  earth  —  the  throbbing  heaven?  Canst  be  a 
pulse  in  Nature's  very  body  ?  (Leaping  up)  Take  for- 
ests in  thy  arms,  and  feel  the  little  leaf-veins  beat  thy 
blood  ? 

Hel.  (Rising)  Yes — yes  —  I  know.  Come  to  the 
window,  love.  The  soft  Spring  air  begins  to  stir. 

(They  move  to  window) 

Poe.  O,  what  a  night!  'Tis  like  a  poem  flowing  to 
the  sea.  Here  I  shake  death  from  my  garments.  Oh, 
had  my  soul  a  tongue  to  trumpet  thought,  men  from  yon 
planets  now  would  stare  and  lean  to  earth  with  listening 


186  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

ears!  .  .  .  Hark!    'T is  music! 

Hel.     (Looking  down)    A  serenade. 
Poe.    Canst  call  it  that  ?    I  hear  nothing  that  comes 
not  from  the  stars.     'Tis  Israfel!    The  angel  whose  lute 
is  his  own  heart ! 

If  I  could  dwell 
Where  Israfel 

Hath  dwelt,  and  he  where  I, 
He  might  not  sing  so  wildly  well 
A  mortal  melody, 

While  a  bolder  note  than  his  might  swell 
From  my  lyre  within  the  sky  ! 

Some  day  we  shall  live  there,  Helen,  and  then  I  will  sing 
to  thee ! 

Hel.  But  now  —  my  love — you  must  rest — youmust 
sleep. 

Poe.    Sleep !    Nothing  sleeps  but  mortality ! 

Hel.    And  you  are  mortal,  Edgar. 

Poe.  I !  Nay,  thy  love  has  given  me  kinship  with 
the  deities!  Sleep?  Ay,  when  Nature  naps,  and  God 
looks  for  a  bed !  When  yonder  moon  forgets  her  starry 
whirl  and  nodding  falls  from  heaven!  When  Ocean's 
giant  pulse  is  weary  and  grows  still !  When  Earth  heaves 
up  no  seasons  with  their  buds !  No,  no,  we  will  not 
sleep!  But  see — there  gleams  the  river — and  yonder 
rise  the  hills  touched  new  with  Spring!  Wilt  go  there 
with  me,  Helen  ?  Now! 

Hel.    Now? 

Poe.    To-night ! 

Hel.    To-night  ? 

Poe.  Why  not  ?  You  say  it  as  though  night  and 
day  were  not  the  same  to  the  soul  —  except  that  night  is 
more  beautiful !  Why  not  go  ? 


THE  POET  187 

Hel.  I  will  tell  you,  love.  (Drawing  him  back  to  the 
large  chair)  Come,  listen.  (She  sits  in  chair,  and  he 
kneels  by  her,  the  moonlight  covering  them)  Because  I 
love  you  more  than  you  love  beauty,  God  or  night,  and 
you  must  live  for  me.  And  to  live  means — rest — sleep  — 

Poe.  Do  you  love  me  so  much?  O,  'tis  like  cool 
waters  falling  about  me  to  hear  you  say  it. 

Hel.  I  will  help  you,  Edgar.  Already  I  feel  my 
strength.  Where  I  may  serve  you  I'll  not  meekly  go, 
but  go  exultant.  The  thorns  and  stones  so  harsh  to 
human  feet,  I  '11  press  as  they  were  buds,  and  leave  my 
blood  for  kisses. 

Poe.    Oh,  go  on. 

Hel.  Yes,  I've  more  to  tell  you.  It  is — that  you 
must  help  me,  too.  To-day  —  before  you  looked  at  me 
the  first  time — I  was  dying.  Ah,  more,  —  I  was  about  to 
set  the  seal  of  death  on  my  soul.  My  mother,  who  died 
at  sea  when  I  was  born,  gave  me  a  heritance  with  winds 
and  waves  and  stars.  But  I  was  nursed  by  hands 
through  whose  clay  ran  no  immortal  streams.  Cradled 
in  convention,  fed  on  sophistries,  I  wove  a  shroud  about 
my  soul,  and  within  that  hardening  chrysalis  it  was 
dying  away  when  you  called  it  forth  in  time  to  live  — 
dear  God,  in  time  to  live !  Now  you  see  how  much  you 
are  to  me,  Edgar.  I  must  not  lose  you.  But  you  must 
be  careful  and  patient  with  me,  for  my  newly-bared  soul 
shrinks  from  the  wonders  so  familiar  to  you,  and  I  may 
fly  back  to  my  chrysalis  to  escape  the  pain. 

Poe.  I  am  not  afraid.  Would  a  mother  leave  her 
babe  ?  And  I  am  a  child  now,  Helen.  This  strange,  new 
rest  you  give  me  is  like  a  gentle  birth.  I  have  been  old 
all  my  life.  Now  the  longing  comes  for  a  little  of  the 
childhood  that  was  never  mine.  The  years  fall  from  me, 
and  I  have  no  wish  but  to  lie  on  a  mother's  bosom  and 
hear  her  voice  prattling  above  me. 


188  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Hel.  (Archly,  leaning  over  him  as  he  sits  at  her  feet) 
Does  my  little  boy  want  a  story  ? 

Poe.     (Smiling)     About  the  fairies,  mama  ? 

Hel.  About  the  fairies  —  and  a  big  giant — and  a 
little  girl  lost  in  a  wood  — 

Poe.    And  a  little  boy  too  ? 

Hel.  Yes,  a  little  boy,  too !  And  the  little  girl  was 
crying— 

Poe.    And  the  little  boy  found  her  ? 

Hel.  Yes,  and  he  told  her  not  to  cry,  that  he  could 
kill  the  big  giant,  and  he  hid  the  little  girl  in  a  cave — 

Poe.    Was  it  a  dark  cave,  mama  ? 

Hel.  No-o-o !  It  was  a  cave  —  with  —  windows  in  it ! 
And  by  and  by  he  heard  the  giant  coming— 

Poe.  Oh !  (Hides  his  face  on  her  breast.  She  holds 
him  to  her,  her  hands  on  his  hair)  And  when  the  little 
boy  heard  the  leaves  rustling  closer  and  closer  he  climbed 
a  great  tree — 

Poe.  (Lifting  his  head)  But  he  wasn't  afraid, 
mama? 

Hel.    O,  no-o ! 

Poe.    Because  that  little  boy  was  me ! 

He!.  Yes.  And  when  you  got  to  the  top  of  the 
tree  — 

Poe.    O,  what  did  I  do  then  ? 

Hel.  Why,  you  see  this  was  the  biggest  giant  that 
e-v-e-r  lived — and  his  head  was  just  as  high  as  the  top  of 
the  tree — so  when  he  came  by  — 

Poe.  I  know !  I  know !  I  just  out  with  my  sword, 
and  off  went  his  head ! 

Hel.  So  it  did !  And  then  you  climbed  down  from 
the  tree  — 

Poe.    And  the  little  girl  came  out  of  the  cave  — 

Hel.    And  you  went  off  together  happy  ever  after! 

Poe.    What  was  that  little  girl's  name,  mama  ? 


THE  POET  189 

Hel.  Why, I  don't  think  you  ever  told  me  that, did  you  ? 

Poe.    I  was  just  thinking — 

Hel.    What,  darling  ? 

Poe.  That  I  wish  you  weren't  my  mama,  so  you 
could  be  that  little  girl ! 

Hel.  O,  I  can,  dear.  For  there  were  the  fairies.  We 
forgot  the  fairies.  They  gave  me  this  pretty  ring,  so  that 
when  I  put  it  on  1  can  be  whoever  I  please,  and  I  please 
to  be  just  whoever  my  little  boy  likes  best. 

Poe.  (Rises,  and  speaks  in  his  own  manner) 
Madonna,  Oh,  Madonna !  You  will  save  me.  (Kisses 
her  forehead)  Good-night.  To-morrow  I  will  tell  you 
about  my  work — our  work.  There  are  miracles  yet  to 
be.  And  Poesy  shall  speak  them. 

Hel.  But  do  not  try  to  write  out  all  your  soul, 
Edgar.  That  cannot  be.  Poetry  is  but  one  gate.  The 
soul  goes  out  by  a  thousand  ways. 

Poe.  True.  And  we  will  find  those  ways  together, 
Helen.  We  will  gather  truth  in  every  path,  —  truth  that 
flowers  out  of  the  struggle  and  carnage  of  life  like  the 
bloom  of  song  on  the  crimson  of  war. 

Hel.  But  we  may  not  know  all.  Man's  greatest 
knowledge  is  but  the  alphabet  of  the  eternal  book.  We 
must  be  content  with  the  letters,  and  not  unhappily 
strive  to  read. 

Poe.  I  will  remember.  But  what  mortal  can  attain 
shall  be  mine.  Already  thoughts  that  fled  my  agony 
come  to  me  as  gently  as  the  alighting  of  birds.  Truths 
open  about  me  like  the  unfolding  of  roses  yet  warm  with 
God's  secret.  Good-night.  (Takes  her  hand)  I  am  not 
the  greatest  genius,  Helen,  for  I  can  not  stand  alone. 
(Drops  her  hand  and  goes  to  window.  Hesitates  and 
turns  back)  One  kiss.  (Kisses  her)  O,  look  at  me ! 
I  lose  divinity  when  you  close  your  eyes !  Look  at  me, 
and  I  can  not  fall  for  Heaven  bears  me  up ! 


190  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Hel.     (In  sadden  alarm)    I  hear  a  step ! 

Poe.  (Looking  at  her  reproachfully)  Listen  better, 
you  will  hear  God's  footfall. 

Hel.    Some  one  is  up. 

Poe.  And  do  you  care?  Would  you  put  a  stain  upon 
this  hour?  This  flower  of  love  bloom  perfect  from  the  skies? 

Hel.    Ah,  it  is  gone. 

Poe.  (Wildly)  O,  you  will  leave  me,  Helen!  You 
can  not  stay !  For  I  will  play  the  madman  to  thy  sense 
when  I  am  sanest,  and  like  a  shivering  Atlas  shake  thy 
world  when  most  thou  wouldst  be  still.  This  body 
wraps  more  lives  then  one,  my  girl.  When  I  was  born 
no  pitying  angel  dipped  my  spirit-fire  in  Lethe.  I  weep 
with  all  the  dead  as  they  my  brothers  were,  and  haunt 
the  track  of  time  to  shudder  with  his  ghosts.  Wilt  fare 
with  me,  brave  Helen  ?  Wilt  tread  the  nadir  gloom  and 
golden  path  of  suns  ?  Canst  gaze  with  me  into  the  fear- 
ful, grey  infinitude  — 

Hel.  That  grey  infinitude  is  yet  the  circle  of  your 
being.  The  mind  can  not  leave  itself.  You  are  always 
in  your  own  country.  Why  should  you  fear  ? 

Poe.  The  mind  that  can  not  leave  itself  knows  noth- 
ing. Not  the  'I  am'  but  'Thou  art'  is  God.  O,  there  is 
a  realm  of  which  imagination  is  but  a  shadow  —  where 
the  mind  is  burnt  away  in  His  vision's  fire,  and  thought 
becomes  celestial  angel  of  itself!  And  you  turn  back 
with  the  first  step  —  already  I  am  alone  — 

Hel.  No!  I,  too,  have  hung  upon  the  bound- 
aries of  the  world  to  catch  God's  flying  dreams !  O, 
trust  me  !  Thou  shalt  fling  no  lance  but  1  will  cast  it  on 
to  gleam  in  a  farther  sun  !  Bring  me  roses  from  Jupiter, 
I  '11  bring  thee  lilies  from  Uranus  !  O,  — 

Poe.  Mine,  by  Heaven!  (Catches  her  to  him) 
Here  we  '11  begin  the  immortal  pilgrimage !  We  need  not 
wait  for  death!  From  world  to  world  — 


THE  POET  191 

Hel.     (Springing  from  him)    It  is  a  step ! 
Go,  Edgar  !  Go ! 

Poe.  No !  By  the  god  in  my  bosom,  you  are  mine 
from  this  moment  ! 

Hel.  My  father !  my  father !  He  will  tear  me  from 
you — You  do  not  know  him! 

Poe.  I  know  he's  mortal.  Heaven  could  not  part 
us.  I  will  not  move ! 

(He  is  standing  in  the  window.  She  hastily  draws 
the  curtain  before  him) 

Hel.     Then  keep  your  word ! 

(A  knock  at  the  door.    Helen  is  silent) 

Voice.    Helen  ? 

Hel.    It  is  you,  Roger  ?    Come  in. 

(Roger  enters,  carrying-  a  lamp.  Looks  about  and 
sees  Helen.) 

Rog.    I  heard  voices.  .  .  .  Who  was  with  you,  Helen  ? 

I  could  not  be  mistaken (puts  lamp  on 

a  table,  and  comes  nearer  Helen.)  Look  at  me,  Helen 
....  I  am  your  brother.  Who  was  here  ?....!  know 
that  Love  has  laid  his  mighty  hand  upon  you,  but 
yet  you  are  an  angel.  I  thought — it  was — his  voice. 
.  .  .  Tell  me  what  this  means.  .  .  .  He  was  not  here ! 
O,  I  shall  die  when  I  learn  that  you  are  but  a  woman ! 

Poe.  (Leaping  out)  I  am  here,  sir,  to  defend  that 
lady's  honor! 

Rog.  (Staggers  back,  regains  composure,  and  bows 
ironically)  I  rejoice  to  hear  it,  sir,  for  you  alone  can  do 
it.  It  is  wholly  in  your  keeping.  (Turns  to  go) 

Hel.    Roger! 

Rog.    Madam. 

Hel.    You  forsake  me  ? 

Rog.    You  have  forsaken  yourself. 

Hel.  Oh  !  (Swoons.  Poe  bends  over  her  wildly 
affectionate.  Roger  stands  apart,  proud  and  despairing) 


192  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Poe.    Helen !    Speak  !    Speak  to  me ! 

Hel.    Leave  me !    Leave  me ! 

Poe.    It  is  I,  Helen !    Your  lover !    Edgar ! 

Hel  You,  you,  I  mean!  (Rising)  Thou  wing  of 
hell  across  my  life !  Away  from  me ! 

(Poe  stands  back  speechless  with  bewilderment. 
Roger  goes  to  Helen,  takes  her  hand,  and  leads  her  from 
the  room) 

Poe.  Lost!  lost!  lost!  (Looks  about  the  room) 
This  place !  .  .  .  .  O,  I  was  mad  to  come  here !  .  .  .  She 
will  never  forgive  me !  (Falls  on  the  couch  and  lies 
motionless.  After  a  moment  enter  Mrs.  Delormis.) 

Mrs.  Del.  Where  is  the  wild  man  ?  .  .  .  .  Oh,  he  has 
fainted !  The  wine !  (Goes  to  the  table  andpours  wine) 

Poe.    Oh ! 

(Mrs.  Delormis  turns  to  him.  He  rises  ceremonious- 
ly,  with  effort)  Well? 

Mrs.  Del.  Well,  indeed !  Here  I  am  to  your  rescue, 
and  you  reward  me  with  a  '  well '  (mimicking)  up  to 
ceiling. 

Poe.    What  are  they  saying  to  her  ?    I  must  go  to  her ! 
I  must ! 

Mrs.  Del.  Must  not !  Listen !  (Grasps  his  arm  to 
detain  him) 

Poe.  (Releasing  his  arm  and  bowing  stiffly)  Mrs. 
Delormis. 

Mrs.  D.  (Copying  his  manner)  Mr.  Poe!  ....  Mr. 
Truelord  has  not  yet  been  roused.  No  one  will  wake 
him  unless  you  choose  to  do  it  yourself  by  increasing 
the  hubbub.  Roger  defends  you  to  Mrs.  Truelord — says 
you  are  ill — out  of  your  senses  —  and  other  compli- 
mentary things.  Both  of  them  are  soothing  and 
mothering  Helen,  and— (dropping  into  tenderness)  I 
wanted  you  to  have  a  little  mothering,  too  — 

Poe.    Do  you  really  want  to  help  me  ? 


THE  POET  193 

Mrs.  Del.    O,  if  you  would  only  let  me  be  your  friend! 

Poe.  You  may !  Stay  here  with  me  till  she  comes ! 
I  know  she  will  come.  She  can  not  let  me  go  without 
one  word.  It  would  be  too  terrible.  She  can  not!  Stay 
till  she  comes.  Talk  to  me.  Do  not  let  me  think ! 

Mrs.  Del.  I'll  make  myself  comfortable  then,  and 
we  '11  have  a  good  chat.  You  know  I ' ve  been  told  that 
I  talk  my  best  between  two  and  three  in  the  morning- 

(Takes  pillow  from  couch  to  make  herself  cosy 
in  chair) 

Poe.    Do  not  touch  that  pillow ! 

Mrs.  Del.     (Dropping  into  chair)     Well ! 

Poe.    Do  not  sit  in  that  chair ! 

Mrs.  Del.  (Rising)  May  I  stand  on  the  carpet,  or 
shall  I  take  off  my  slippers  before  the  burning  bush  of 
your  love  ? 

Poe.  Forgive  me!  Don't  you  see  that  I  have  lost 
her? 

Mrs.  Del.  Well,  you  were  out  of  your  senses  to 
come  here  and  think  Helen  would  understand  it. 

Poe.  I  was  not!  She  did  understand!  The  vision 
that  led  me  to  her  feet  was  as  clear  as  an  archangel's !  It 
is  now  that  I  am  mad,  and  see  everything  gross  and 
darkened  with  earth  and  flesh!  (Overcome,  sinks  on 
couch.  She  hastily  brings  wine) 

Mrs.  Del.    Drink  it.     You  must. 

Poe.  No!  You  offer  me  hell!  And  you  know  it. 
Put  it  down.  If  you  want  to  help  me,  go  to  her  and 
bring  me  one  word. 

Mrs.  Del.    Drink  this  for  me,  and  I  will. 

Poe.  (Taking  glass)  You  will?  .  .  .  No!  (Puts 
glass  down) 

Mrs.  Del.  My  dear  boy,  you  are  too  weak  to  stand! 
It 's  that  old  habit  of  not  eating.  I  do  n't  believe  you 
have  tasted  food  for  days. 


194  SEM1RAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Poe.  True.  .  .  but.  .  .  .  (Faints.  Mrs.  Delormis 
gives  him  wine.  He  rouses) 

Mrs.  Del.    Now  will  you  kill  me  ? 

Poe.  (Brightening)  No.  You  were  right.  "Fwas 
what  I  needed.  'T  will  keep  life  in  me  till  she  comes.  Go 
to  her  now.  Tell  her  I  will  leave  her  —  I  will  go  away 
for  a  year — a  thousand  years — if  she  will  only  say  I  may 
come  back  some  day.  I  will  live  in  a  desert  and  pray 
myself  to  the  bone!  Bring  me  one  .word  from  her— a 
curse  —  anything ! 

Mrs.  Del.  (Pouring  wine)  A  little  more  of  this 
then,  so  I  shall  be  sure  to  find  you  alive  when  I  return. 

Poe.  (Drinks eagerly)  'T is  life!  Life!  I've  drunk 
of  Cretan  wines  against  whose  fragrant  tide  the  Venus- 
rose  poured  all  her  flood  in  vain,  but  never  thrilled  my 
lips  till  now  with  drop  so  ravishing !  And  you  brought 
it  to  me !  Helen  left  me  to  die.  .  .  .  cruel.  .  .  .  cruel.  .  . 
cruel.  .  .  .  (Sits  on  couch,  taking  his  head  in  his  hands. 
Looks  up)  Florimel ! 

Mrs.  Del.    My  Calidore ! 

Poe.    You  are  a  very  beautiful  devil. 

Mrs.  Del.  (Pouring  wine)  Thanks.  I'm  glad  you 
like  my  style.  (Sips  wine)  It  is  good,  isn't  it  ? 

Poe.  'Tis  an  enchantment  to  pilot  grief  to  new  and 
festal  worlds!  Another  cup!  (Drinks)  O,  'tis  a  drink 
to  rouse  the  drooping  soul  for  warrier  quest  till  on  the 
conquered  shores  of  dream  man  strides  a  god !  .  .  . 
(Pours  another  glass)  Again?  No.  .  no  more!  .... 
(Sinks  down)  O,  my  bird. of  Heaven,  come  quickly,  or  I 
am  lost ! Florimel ! 

Mrs.  Del.     My  knight  of  Normandy ! 

Poe.  Since  we  are  going  to  hell  let  us  be  merry 
about  it. 

Mrs.  Del.    At  last  you  are  sensible. 

Poe.    Wine!  wine! 


THE  POET  195 

Mrs.  Del.  (Holding  glass)  I  mean  to  have  my  price 
for  this. 

Poe.    Take  my  soul ! 

Mrs.  Del.    Something  better — a  kiss! 

Poe.  'T  is  yours!  (Kisses  her)  Why  not?  For  but 
a  kiss  did  Jove  forsake  the  skies,  and  jeopard  his  high 
realm ! 

Mrs.  Del.  For  but  a  kiss  did  Dian  leave  her  throne 
and  waste  her  goddess  dower  on  shepherd  lips !  (Sits  by 
him)  Now  you  are  going  to  tell  me  something.  Why 
did  you  fly  from  Normandy,  and  not  a  word,  not  a  word 
to  me?  Come,  my  Calidore!  Why  did  you  fly  from  me? 

Poe.  (Momentarily  sober)  Because — a  woman 
shall  never  become  less  holy  than  God  made  her  through 
me.  (Rises  and  walks  away)  Helen.  .  .  .  my  amaranth, 
I  may  not  pluck  thee !  .  .  .  .  (Staggers)  One  cup  more. 
....  one.  .  .  (Pours  wine,  and  holds  up  glass  apostro- 
phizing as  Roger  and  Helen  enter  unnoticed)  O,  little 
ruby  ocean  that  can  drown  all  mortal  sighs!  Call 
buried  hope  to  put  life's  garland  on,  and  limping  woes  to 
trip  like  Nereids  on  a  moonlit  shore!  For  thee,  frail 
sickness  casts  her  pallid  chrysalis  and  blooms  a  rosy 
angel !  For  thee,  Death  breaks  his  scythe  and  owns  Life 

conqueror !     (Drinks)     Were  this  Antonius'  cup 

.  .  .  Ha!  Are  you  there,  my  devil?  Another  kiss, 
sweetheart!  (Throws  his  arm  about  Mrs.  Delormis. 
Helen  cries  out.  Poe  turns  and  faces  her) 

Hel.  (To  Poe,  speaking  slowly  and  mechanically)  I 
came,  sir,  to  ask  you  to  forgive  me.  (Turns  to  Roger) 
It  is  to  you,  Roger,  that  I  make  my  plea. 

(Poe  looks  at  her  helplessly,  then  understands,  and 
with  a  terrible  face,  turns  and  leaps  through  the  open 
window.  Helen,  with  a  sob,  droops,  and  Roger  takes 
her  in  his  arms) 

(CURTAIN) 


196  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 


ACT    II. 


Scene :  Lawn  in  front  of  Clemm  cottage,  near  Rich- 
mond. Bony  and  Tat  on  a  side  porch  shelling  peas. 

Tat.  Sho'  Mars  Edgah  come  in  good  time!  Pea- 
vines  jes  a  hangin'  low,  an'  sweet  as  honey  ! 

Bony.  Mars  Edgah  hab  peas  ebry  day  wha'  he  came 
f  om !  Big  city  hab  ebry  ting ! 

Tat.    Dey  can't  hab  ebry  ting  when  it  don'  grow! 

Bony.  Sho',  dey  hab  it  when  it  don'  grow  same  lak 
when  he  do  grow ! 

Tat.    You  nebah  did  hab  no  sense ! 

Bony.  I  ain't  got  no  sense?  Take  dat,  Tatermally 
Clemm !  (Strikes  at  her.  They  scuffle  and  bring  Zurie 
to  side  door) 

Zu.  Dem  chillun'  jes  kill  me !  Why  de  Lawd  make 
ol'  Zurie  bring  dem  two  twins  to  dis  heah  worl'  she 
nebah  could  tell!  Dey  haint  shell  'nuf  fo'  a  hummin' 
bird's  stomach,  an'  de  pot  bilin'  mad  fo'  'm  dis  minute! 
Wha'  yo'  do,  yo'  black  niggahs  ?  Come  in  heah !  I  make 
yo'  sit  still  an'  do  nuffin'  an'  yo'  ol'  mammy  wu'kin'  hus- 
sef  to  def !  (Picks  up  basket  and  drives  children  into  the 
kitchen.  Calls  after  them  beamingly)  Wha'  yo'  reckon 
yo'  ol'  mummy  cookin'  in  dat  ubbin  fo'  two  little  no 
'count  niggahs  ? 

Children.  (Within,  scampering  with  delight)  Cherry 
cobblah !  Cherry  cobblah ! 

Zu.  (Shutting  the  door)  Don'  want  dat  wind 
blowin'  on  my  poun'  cake !  It  '11  fall  sho' ! 


THE  POET  197 

(Virginia  comes  out  at  the  front  door  of  cottage,  and 
walks  across  the  lawn  to  the  shade  of  a  bay  tree  where 
Poe  lies  in  a  hammock  as  if  asleep.  A  book  on  the 
ground.  She  goes  up  softly  and  sits  on  a  garden  chair 
near  him.  He  opens  his  eyes) 

Vir.    O,  I  have  waked  you ! 

Poe.  No,  little  houri.  I  was  not  asleep.  I  would 
not  give  one  breath  of  this  sweet  world  to  cold,  uncon- 
scious sleep. 

Vir.    You  are  happy,  cousin  Edgar  ? 

Poe.  No,  Virginia.  This  is  all  too  delicious  to  be 
called  happiness.  Too  calm,  like  the  stilling  of  a  con- 
dor's wings  above  sea-guarding  peaks.  He  flies  when 
he  is  happy.  When  more  than  happy,  it  is  enough  to 
pause  in  the  blue  and  breathe  wonders. 

Vir.  Is  it  wonderful  here,  Edgar?  It  has  always 
seemed  so  to  me,  but  I  have  been  afraid  to  tell  anyone. 
It  seems  like  a  great  fairy  house  with  God  in  it.  Is  it 
wonderful,  cousin  ? 

Poe.     You  are  wonderful. 

Vir.  O,  no,  no,  no !  I  want  to  tell  you  too,  Edgar, 
I  have  never  felt  that  I  quite  belong  here.  It  is  all  too 
good  for  me  —  so  beautiful,  and  I  am  not  beautiful. 

Poe.  (Rising)  Why,  my  little  aspiring  Venus,  let  me 
tell  you  something.  I  have  wandered  somewhat  in  life 
—  at  home  and  over  sea — and  I  have  never  looked 
upon  a  woman  fairer  than  yourself. 

Vir.  (Springing  up  in  delight)  O,  I  am  so  happy ! 
You  would  not  flatter  me !  You  are  the  soul  of  truth  ! 

Poe.  It  is  no  flattery,  little  maid,  as  the  world  will 
soon  teach  you. 

Vir.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that  world,  Edgar. 
My  world  is  the  circuit  of  our  mocking-bird's  wing.  O, 
where  is  he?  (Calls)  Freddy!  Freddy!  He  is  not 
near  or  he  would  come.  But  he  never  goes  farther  than 


198  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER   PLAYS 

the  orchard.  Freddy!  .  .  He  has  not  sung  to  me  this 
morning.  You  haven't  heard  his  finest  song  yet.  O,  'tis 
sweeter  than  — 

Poe.     (Picking  up  book)     Than  Spenser  ? 

Vir.  Yes  —  than  Spenser.  Though  he  makes  music 
too,  and  we  were  just  coming  to  the  siren's  song.  Shall 
I  read  ? 

Poe.  Do!  I  knew  not  how  to  love  him  till  he  war- 
bled from  your  tongue. 

Vir.    '  Tis  where  the  mermaid  calls  the  knight. 

(Reads) 

O,  thou  fair  son  of  gentle  faery, 
That  art  in  mighty  arms  most  magnifyde 
Above  all  knights  that  ever  battle  tried, 
O,  turn  thy  rudder  hetherward  awhile  ! 
Here  may  the  storm-bett  vessel  safely  ride  ; 
This  is  the  port  of  ease  from  troublous  toil, 
The  world's    sweet    inn    from    pain     and 
wearisome  turmoyle  ! 

Poe.    No  more — no  more ! 

Vir.    Why,  cousin  ? 

Poe.  I  shall  have  the  water  about  my  ears  presently. 
I  thought  I  was  drowning  on  a  mermaid's  bosom.  Read 
no  more,  Virginia.  One  nibble  at  a  time  is  enough  of 
Spenser.  He  ought  to  be  made  into  a  thousand  little 
poems.  Then  we  should  have  a  multitude  of  gems  in- 
stead of  a  great  granite  mountain  that  nobody  can 
circuit  without  weariness. 

Vir.  You  know  so  much,  Edgar.  Will  you  teach 
me  while  you  are  here,  if  I  try  very  hard  to  learn  ? 

Poe.  (Plucking  a  flower)  My  little  girl,  what  lore 
would  you  teach  this  bud  ?  God  makes  some  people  so. 
Be  happy  that  you  are  a  beautiful  certainty  and  not  a 
struggling  possibility. 


THE  POET  199 

Vir.  But  the  rose  has  no  soul,  Edgar  —  no  heart,  as  I 
have.  It  does  not  sigh  to  see  you  look  so  pale,  and 
read  these  lines  of  suffering  here,  (touching  his  brow) 
but  I — it  kills  me,  cousin!  (He  hides  his  face)  Forgive 
me !  O,  I  am  so  unkind ! 

(Mrs.  Clemm  comes  out  of  cottage  and  crosses  to 
them.  She  gently  takes  Poe's  hand  from  his  face  and 
kisses  him) 

Mrs.  C.    My  dear  boy  ! 

Poe.  (Seizing  her  hand  and  holding  it)  Don't  — 
don't  be  so  kind  to  me,  aunt !  It  tells  too  much  of  what 
has  never  been  mine.  Curious  interest — passing  friend- 
ship— love  born  in  a  flash  and  dead  in  an  hour — these  I 
have  had,  while  my  heart  was  crying  from  its  depths 
for  the  firmly  founded  love  that  shakes  but  with  the 
globe  itself. 

Mrs.  C.  (Taking  his  head  on  her  breast)  My  dear 
Edgar!  You  will  be  my  son — Virginia's  brother! 

Poe.  (Lifting  his  face  smiling)  I  will  be  happy ! 
No  more  of  that  solitude  lighted  only  by  the  eyes  of 
ghouls !  Here  I  have  come  into  the  light.  I  have  found 
the  sun.  I  see  what  my  work  should  be —  what  Art  is. 
She  is  beauty  and  joy.  Her  light  should  fall  on  life  like 
morning  on  the  hills.  The  clouds  of  passion  and  agony 
should  never  darken  her  face.  O,  I  can  paint  her  now 
ready  for  the  embrace  of  the  soul ! 

Mrs.  C.  I  can  not  see  things  with  your  rapturous 
eyes,  Edgar,  but  I  know  that  your  work  will  be  noble, 
and  I  love  you. 

Poe.  O,  aunt,  you  and  this  little  wonder-witch  have 
enchanted  me  back  to  happiness.  I  promise  you  never 
again  shall  you  see  a  tear  on  my  face  or  a  frown  on  my 
brow.  (Virginia,  looking  toward  the  road,  bows  as  to 
some  one  passing) 

Poe.    Blushing,  cousin  ?    Who  is  worth  such  a  rosy 


200  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

flag  ?  (Stands  up  and  looks  down  the  road)  Bracket! ! 
I  do  believe ! 

Mrs.  C.  You  know  him,  Edgar  ?  He  is  staying  with 
my  brother-in-law,  Nelson  Clemm,  for  a  short  time,  and 
has  asked  to  call  on  us  —  on  Virginia,  I  mean,  for  of  course 
I  don't  count,  now  that  my  little  girl  is  suddenly  turned 
woman. 

Poe.    Don't  for  Heaven's  sake  ! 

Mrs.  C.    You  don't  like  him,  Edgar  ? 

Poe.  Like  him !  We  were  at  West  Point  together. 
He  refused  to  accept  a  challenge  after  slandering  me 
vilely,  and  I  was  obliged  to  thrash  him.  That's  all. 
(Turns  suddenly  to  Virginia)  And  you  were  blushing 
for  him!  •  , 

Vir.    It  was  not  because  I  like  him,  Edgar. 

Poe.  (Looking  into  her  eyes)  You  are  a  wise  little 
piece. 

Mrs.  C.  This  is  painful,  Edgar.  Of  course  he  must 
not  call. 

Poe.  Call!  Let  him  but  look  toward  the  house 
again,  and  I'll  give  him  a  drubbing  that  will  make  him 
forget  the  first  one!  The  coward!  He  wouldn't  meet 
me  —  after — 

Vir.    How  about  the  frowns,  Edgar  ? 

Poe.     (Smiling)     Let  him  go ! 

Mrs.  C.  You  should  not  make  such  bitter  enemies 
at  the  beginning  of  life,  my  boy. 

Poe.    He  can  not  touch  me.    He  is  not  of  my  world. 

Mrs.  C.  We  are  all  of  one  world,  Edgar,  and  never 
know  when  we  may  lap  fortunes  with  our  foes.  Mr. 
Brackett  is  going  into  literature  too. 

Poe.  Yes.  The  trade  and  barter  part  of  it.  I 
shall  be  in  the  holy  temple  while  he  keeps  a  changer's 
table  on  the  steps.  (Shrugging)  Brackett !  Pah !  .  .  .  . 
But  goodbye  for  half  an  hour.  I  'm  going  to  the  orchard 


THE  POET  201 

to  take  counsel  with  the  birds  on  my  new  philosophy. 
(Starts  away)  Come,  (turning  to  Virginia)  my  mock- 
ing bird,  there  won't  be  a  quorum  without  you! 
(Virginia  goes  to  him.  Zurie  puts  her  head  out  of  a 
window  and  calls.) 

Mum  Zurie.    Mars  Nelson  comin'  up  de  lane ! 

Mrs.  C.  Come  back,  Virginia,  you  must  see  your 
uncle.  Edgar,  won't  you  wait  and  meet  him  ? 

Poe.  Thank  you  aunt,  but  I  don't  think  it  would 
give  him  any  pleasure.  (Exit) 

Vir.  (Coming  back  reluctantly)  O  mama,  we  will 
make  him  happy ! 

Mrs.  C.  We'll  try,  my  dear.  But  you  must  get 
ready  for  the  picnic.  The  girls  will  be  here  soon.  Is 
Edgar  going  with  you  ? 

Vir.  No,  mother.  He  said  he  would  go  to  a  picnic 
only  with  nymphs  and  naiads. 

Mrs.  C.    Here  is  uncle. 

(Enter,  from  the  road,  Nelson  Clemm) 

Mr.  C.  How  d' do,  Maria!  Howdy,  girl!  Go  get 
your  hat. 

Mrs.  C.    What  now,  Nelson  ? 

Mr.  C.  Nothin'.  Only  I'm  tired  o'  foolin'  and 
talkin' about  that  girl's  education.  I've  come  to  take 
her  this  time. 

Vir.    To  send  me  to  school  ? 

Mr.  C.  High  time,  ain't  it  ?  I  could  n't  make  up 
my  mind  before  whether 'twas  to  be  the  seminary  at 
Bowville  or  Maryburg.  But  I  had  a  letter  this  morning 
which  settled  it  for  Bowville.  Suits  me  exactly  —  suits 
me  exactly.  So  get  your  hat  and  come  along,  I  drove 
across  the  ridge  and  left  my  trap  at  Judge  Carroll's. 

Mrs.  C.  Her  clothes,  Nelson!  There's  nothing 
ready  — 

Mr.  C.    You  mean  to  say !    When  we  've  been  talkin' 


202  SEMIS  AMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

this  thing  a  whole  year  ?  And  you  a  thrifty  woman  tell 
me  her  clothes  ain't  ready  ?  Well,  she  '11  come  without 
'em,  that's  all.  You  can  send  'em  along  afterwards. 
I  've  got  it  all  fixed  up,  I  tell  you.  My  brother's  child 
shall  hare  her  chance— she  shall  have  her  chance,  so 
long  as  I've  got  a  dollar  in  my  pocket  and  she  walks 
exactly  to  please  me  —  walks  exactly  to  please  me.  It's 
for  you  to  say,  Maria,  whether  you  '11  stand  in  the  way 
o'  your  own  flesh  and  blood  or  not. 

Mrs.  C.  Of  course,  Nelson,  I  am  very  grateful,  and 
do  not  dream  of  depriving  Virginia  of  this  opportunity, 
only — 

Mr.  C.  That's  all  there  is  to  it  then.  No  onlys 
about  it.  Go  get  your  hat,  girl.  (Virginia  goes  slowly 
into  the  house.  At  the  door  she  meets  Zurie  who  turns 
back  and  goes  in  -with  her) 

Mrs.  C.    Now,  Nelson  ? 

Mr.  C.  It's  just  this.  My  brother's  child  shan't 
stay  another  hour  in  the  same  house  with  Edgar  Poe. 
That's  the  plain  tale  of  it,  Maria. 

Mrs.  C.    Nelson  Clemm ! 

Mr.  C.  O,  I've  been  hearin'  things  —  I've  been  hear- 
in' !  He  didn't  cover  all  his  tracks  at  West  Point — or 
New  York  either! 

Mrs.  C.  Lies !  All  lies !  Every  one  of  them !  He  is 
the  soul  of  honor !  Already  Virginia  loves  him  like  a 
brother !  I  trust  her  instinct !  I  trust  my  own ! 

Mr.  C.  O,  I'm  not  arguin',  I'm  just  doin'.  You 
can't  turn  him  out,  of  course.  Wouldn't  do  it  myself. 
Nobody '11  ever  say  Nelse  Clemm  was  an  inhospitable 
dog !  But  I  can  look  out  for  Virginia,  and  I  will.  She 
goes  with  me  now,  or  I'm  done  with  you  and  yours  — 
and  you  know  that  mortgage  ain't  paid  off  yet. 

Afrs.  C.  Yes,  she  shall  go.  She  ought  to  be  in  school 
and  again  I  thank  you  for  helping  us.  But  you  are 


THE  POET  203 

wronging  my  nephew,  —  one  of  the  noblest  of  men.  You 
don't  know  him ! 

Mr.  C.    It's  plain  enough  you  don't ! 

Mrs.  C.    Has  Mr.  Brackett— 

Mr.  C.  Mr.  Brackett  is  a  guest  in  my  house.  Now, 
Maria,  say  what  you  please.  (Virginia  comes  out  of 
cottage  carrying  a  small  satchel)  That's  a  good  girl ! 
We  '11  fix  up  a  fine  trunk  and  send  it  after  her,  won't  we, 
mother  ? 

Vir.  (Putting  her  arms  about  her  mother's  neck) 
He — wasn't  in  the  orchard,  mama.  Won't  you  say 
goodbye  to  him  for  me  ? 

Mr.  C.  Come,  come  now !  (Leads  her  away)  Don't 
worry,  Maria.  I'll  drive  you  over  to  Bowville 
every  Sunday  Doctor  Barlow  doesn't  preach.  (Half 
turning)  By  the  by,  I  saw  him  down  the  lane  at  the 
widow  Simson's.  Reckon  he'll  be  along  here  pretty 
soon.  Seems  to  be  on  his  widow's  route  to-day.  Good 
morning !  (Exeunt) 

Mrs.  C.  (Looking  after  them)  I  shall  go  to  her 
myself  to-morrow.  My  little  daughter!  A  stately 
woman  now,  but  always  my  little  daughter !  (Starts 
into  the  house,  pausing  on  steps)  Poor  Edgar!  How 
he  is  misjudged !  (Goes  in) 

(Zarie,  Tat  following,  comes  out  of  the  side  door  and 
sets  to  work  digging  up  a  shrub) 

Zu.  (Muttering)  Wha'  Mis'  Clemm  gwine  ter  say 
ter  all  dem  young  ladies  comin'  heah  fo'  de  picnic  ?  An' 
who  gwine  ter  eat  dem  pies  Zurie  been  two  days 
makin'  ?  An'  sech  a  poun'  cake !  It  ought  to  be  a 
weddin'  cake,  deed  it  ought!  (Bony  comes  out  of 
kitchen  with  a  knife  in  his  hand)  Heah,  niggah,  gimme 
up  dat  knife  an'  don'  be  so  slow-back !  Dis  heah  bush 
done  grow  an'  bloom  till  yo'  get  heah ! 

(Enter  Poe,  left,  singing) 


204  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Old  winter  is  a  lie 
As  every  spring-  doth  prove, 
And  care  is  born  to  die 
If  we  but  let  in  love — 

Hey  Mum  Zurie,  what  are  you  doing  ? 

Zu.     I's  diggin',  honey. 

Poe.  That  rosebay  is  the  most  graceful  shrub  in  the 
yard.  You  kill  one  leaf  of  it,  if  you  dare ! 

Zu.  Miss  Virginia  she  say  how  her  bru  'r  Edgah  lub 
dis  heah  tree,  an*  she  want  it  under  her  window. 

Poe.    Oh!    Can't  I  help  you,  Zurie  ?    Tenderly  now ! 

Zu.  Miss  Babylam'  ax  me  to  move  it  yistiddy  but 
I  don't  git  no  time,  an'  I  ain'  gwine  to  leab  it  now  jes 
cause  she's  gone  away. 

Poe.     Gone  away? 

Zu.  O  Lawd,  I  forgot  you  don'  know!  Why, 
honey,  Mars  Nelson  he  come  jes  now  an'  frisk  her  off  to 
school.  Zip !  an'  Babylam'  gone !  An'  law,  ef  you  seen 
dat  po'  chile  cryin' ! 

Poe.    She  cried,  Zurie? 

Zu.  Deed  she  did,  and  she  ax  me  twenty  hundred 
times  to  tell  her  bru'r  Edgah  goodbye. 

Poe.    Virginia  gone  ? 

Zu.  I  done  tol'  yo,  Mars  Edgah!  Sho'  yo'  don't 
think  ol'  Zurie  know  how  ter  tell  lies,  does  yo',  honey  ? 

Poe.  No,  Zurie,  I  know  she  is  gone.  The  birds  have 
all  stopped  singing. 

Zu.  Law,  Mars  Edgah,  dey  jes  be  a  chipperin' ! 
Heah  dat  now  ? 

Poe.  That  is  not  a  song,  Zurie.  It  is  a  wail  from 
Stygian  boughs. 

Zu.    O,  yo'  go  way ! 

Poe.  Gone!  I'll  not  permit  it!  My  aunt  must 
bring  her  back !  (Hurries  into  house) 


THE  POET  205 

Zu.  Wha'  make  him  ac'  so  now  ?  An'  wha'  make 
Miss  Babylam'  cry  hussef  sick  when  she's  gwine  away 
ter  be  a  fine  lady  ?  Mars  Nelson  he  mighty  good  to  gib 
her  eddication,  but  true  fo'  sho  he  might  jes'  well  gib  it 
to  my  Tatermally  fer  all  de  thanks  he's  gittin.'  Ol'  Zurie 
reckon  it  a  sin  to  cry  ober  de  goodness  ob  God ! 

(Mrs.  Clemm  and  Poe  come  out  of  cottage,  both 
disturbed) 

Poe.  But,  aunt,  how  are  we  going  to  live  without 
her? 

Mrs.  C.  My  dear  Edgar,  we  must  not  let  our  affec- 
tions root  so  deep  in  mortal  things. 

Poe.  Mortal  ?  Virginia  mortal !  She  is  a  sister  to 
Psyche,  immortal  as  the  breath  that  blew  her  into 
beauteous  bloom ! 

Mrs.  C.  While  I  am  glad,  my  son,  to  see  you  so 
devoted  to  your  sister — 

Poe.  Sister!  Thank  Heaven  she  is  not  my  sister! 
Aunt,  Virginia  must  be  my  wife ! 

Mrs.  C.     (Bewildered)    Are  you  mad,  Edgar  ? 

Poe.  No.  Sane  at  last.  I  have  been  mad  until  now. 
I  have  drunk  loneliness  and  death.  Here  I  breathe,  grate- 
ful, glad  as  a  flower !  My  breast  swells  and  falls  as  a 
bird's  throat  with  happy  song!  O,  aunt,  help  me  to 
accept  this  fair  new  life— the  only  real  life !  Do  not  drive 
me  back  to  gloom  and  the  devils !  Give  me  your  Virginia ! 

Mrs.  C.    A  child,  Edgar !    A  child ! 

Poe.  To  you  —  only  to  you.  She  has  her  full  dower 
of  beauty  —  womanhood's  portion. 

Mrs.  C.  She  has  a  right  to  her  education.  I  can 
not  wrong  my  child. 

Poe.  I  will  teach  her — teach  her  more  than  she  will 
ever  learn  at  the  great  mess  table  of  knowledge  where 
the  genius  must  take  his  treacle  and  the  blacksmith  his 
ambrosia !  O,  aunt,  you  will  give  her  to  me  ? 


206  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Mrs.  C.  Edgar,  I  love  you  dearly, — but — my  little 
girl — my  Virginia — 

Poe.  (Bitterly)  There  is  a  difference  then.  She  is 
yours,  I  am  not. 

Mrs.  C.  Do  not  be  cruel.  I  am  a  distracted 
mother ! 

Poe.    My  dear  aunt ! 

(Virginia  runs  into  yard  and  flings  her  arms  about 
her  mother) 

Vir.  O,  mama,  uncle  had  to  stop  at  Judge  Carroll's 
and  they  got  into  an  argument  and  Mrs.  Carroll  said 
they  would  be  at  it  for  hours — she  knew  by  the  way  the 
judge  was  filling  his  pipe — and  told  me  to  run  back  if  I 
wanted  to  —  Mama!  Edgar!  What  is  the  matter? 

Mrs.  C.  Edgar  does  not  want  you  to  leave  home, 
dear. 

Poe.  Tell  her  all,  aunt.  (Mrs.  Clemm  is  silent,  Poe 
takes  Virginia's  hand) 

Poe.  Virginia,  you  who  have  the  face  of  a  houri,  the 
form  of  a  sylph,  and  the  heart  of  an  angel,  will  you  be 
my  wife? 

Mrs.  C.    Edgar ! 

Poe.  My  gentle  one,  can  I  not  teach  you  to  love 
me? 

Vir.    Teach  me  ?    Ah,  I  love  you  now,  Edgar ! 

Mrs.  C.    Virginia! 

Vir.  I  do!  I  do,  mama!  And  oh,  what  happiness 
beyond  my  dream — to  be  —  his  wife! 

(Poe  embraces  her  gently  and  draws  her  toward  the 
garden,  right.  They  go  oat  slowly.  Mrs.  Clemm  turns 
toward  the  cottage,  weeping.  At  the  step  she  hesi- 
tates, looks  toward  the  garden,  and  slowly  goes  after 
them,  murmuring  distractedly) 

Zu.  (Who  has  observed  the  scene  with  growing  hor- 
ror) Fo' deLawd,fo'de  Lawd,  bless  dem  two  babies!  O, 


THE  POET  207 

de  signs  am  all  wrong !  Miss  Babylam'  came  back  when 
she  done  start  away !  An'  Freddy  bird  hop  right  on  my 
ol'  wool  dis  mawnin',kase  why,  he  want  tell  me  sumpin 
gwine  happen  to  Babylam'.  An',  oh,  dis  po'  ol'  niggah 
is  kilt,  kase  dis  is  de  day  Miss  Babylam' sfadder  done  die! 
De  missus  she  go  'bout  cryin'  dis  mawnin,  an'  I  allus 
'member  she  do  dat  dis  bery  day!  Wha'  make  Mars 
Nelson  come  fo'  Babylam'  ?  O,  fo  de  Lawd,  fo  de  Lawd  ! 
(Tat  and  Bony  stare  at  their  mother  in  terror  as  she 
proceeds)  I  see  de  black  hawk  what  flies  outen  de  dead 
swamp !  Ooo !  I  see  knives  a  drippin'  an'  guns  a  pop- 
pin' !  Oooooooo!  I  see  de  coffin,  de  coffin  —  an'  it's  all 
dark  night,  an'  de  rain  comin'  down  de  chimney  —  an'  de 
wind  —  de  wind  —  it  say  "Ooooooooooo!"  (Bends  her 
knees  and  body,  and  stares  moaning.  Tat  and  Bony 
cling  to  her  skirts.  She  turns  on  them  with  a  scream,  at 
which  they  tumble  to  the  ground)  Wha'  yo'  doin'  heah, 
yo'  black  no  'count  niggahs  ? 

(Enter  from  the  gate  the  old  minister,  Doctor  Bar- 
low) 

Doctor  B.  Good  morning,  Mum  Zurie.  You  seem  to 
be  agitated.  Can  I  help  you  ? 

Zu.  Lawd,  no !  beg  yo'  pahdon,  sah !  I 's  jes  so 
mighty  tickled !  Dese  heah  two  niggahs  so  comicky  like ! 
Lawd, no,  I  wasn't  alligated  at  all,  beg  yo'  pahdon,  sah ! 

Doctor  B.  I  'm  glad  to  hear  it,  Zurie.  Is  your  mis- 
tress at  home  ? 

Zu.    Yes,  sah.    Dey  all  be  in  de  gahden. 

Doctor  B.    I'll  just  take  a  walk  in  there  then. 

(Exit,  right) 

Zu.  Wha'  make  me  le  'm  go  in  de  gahden  ?  My  brain 
it  jes  all  wool  and  no  sense  at  all !  Wha'  now  he  fin' 
Mars  Edgah  kissin'  Miss  Babylam'  ?  Well,  ain't  dey 
gwine  ter  be  married?  Married!  O,  lawd!  (Throws 
her  apron  over  her  head  and  sits  on  the  ground.  Re- 


208  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

enter  Mrs.  Clemm  and  Doctor  Barlow.  He  carries  his 
hat  in  one  hand  and  mops  his  brow  with  the  other) 

Doctor  B.  Well,  well,  well !  Upon  my  word !  Your 
nephew — pardon  me — is  possessed  of  a  rather  impetuous 
spirit — rather  impetuous,  pardon  me! 

Mrs.  C.  O,  Doctor  Barlow,  what  must  I  do  ?  You 
heard  him !  He  wants  to  be  married  now — this  hour ! 

Doctor  B.  Trust  me,  Mrs.  Clemm,  I  shall  perform  no 
ceremony  without  your  full  consent. 

Mrs.  C.  O,  I  am  sure  of  that !  But  must  I  consent  ? 
If  I  refuse  him  he  may  take  her  away  from  me.  And 
Nelson  will  make  trouble  if  we  wait.  Edgar  will  let  no 
one  oppose  him. 

Doctor  B.    I  should  not  attempt  it,  Mrs.  Clemm. 

Mrs  C.  If  it  is  to  be,  it  is  better  to  let  it  be  now. 
What  makes  me  so  helpless  is  the  fact  that  Virginia  is 
against  me.  She  loves  him. 

Doctor  B.    Naturally,  Mrs.  Clemm,  naturally. 

(They  enter  the  cottage) 

Ztt.  Wha'  dat  man  talk  so  now?  He  better  quit 
preachin'  ef  he  can't  hep  folks  no  more  'n  dat!  Sho',  ol' 
Zurie  hussef  know  dat  much ! 

(Enter  from  the  road  a  swarm  of  girls.  They  wear 
graceful  organdie  gowns,  and  large  ricestraw  hats 
trimmed  with  bows  and  streamers.  Some  carry  baskets, 
which  they  drop,  and  all  troop  about  the  yard) 

Gertrude.    Where 's  Virginia,  Mum  Zurie  ? 

Zu.  (Hesitating)  She  wa'  in  de  house  'bout  so  long 
ago. 

Ger.    I '11  see! 

Zu.  Wait  a  minute !  Mis'  Clemm  she  an'  de  minister 
talkin'  on  impo'tant  business.  Maybe  it  's  dat  mort- 
gage, I  dunno !  (Grimaces) 

Ger.  We'll  go  into  the  garden  then.  (All  start, 
right) 


THE  POET  209 

Zu.  Law,  you  jes  oughter  seedat  cherry  treehangin' 
full  by  de  back  gate ! 

Girls.  O!  O!  O!  (They  rush  off,  disappearing 
behind  the  cottage.  Re-enter  Poe  and  Virginia  from  the 
garden  as  Mrs.  Clemm  appears  at  the  front  door) 

Vir.  O,  'tis  too  sweet  to  be  true !  How  have  I  won 
you,  Edgar  ? 

Poe.  By  beauty,  that  speaks  loudest  when  most 
silent.  (Mrs.  Clemm  meets  them)  God  bless  you,  aunt. 
I  see  '  yes '  in  your  eyes.  You  could  not  deny  me. 

Mrs.  C.    No. 

Poe.  Run,  Virginia,  and  put  on  your  fairy's  dress !  I 
want  you  to  look  as  if  you  were  leaping  out  of  a  flower 
into  my  heart!  (Virginia  goes  in)  O  this  beautiful 
world!  Just  to  live,  my  aunt!  Is  it  not  enough? 
Literature  is  disease !  The  sick-robe  of  the  soul !  Who 
can  write  that  does  not  live — and  who  that  lives  would 
write !  But  I  must  do  it  —  I  must  work  for  her.  Not  a 
wind  shall  blow  upon  my  Virginia !  1  will  find  the  fairy 
paths  for  her  feet !  Not  a  satyr  shall  leer  from  the  wood ! 
She  will  be  ready  soon.  I  shall  wait  for  her  in  the  or- 
chard. I  would  not  see  her  again  until  she  is  mine  —  all 
mine! 

(Exit,  left,  singing) 

'  Come,  Apollo's  pipes  are  merry — ' 

(Mrs.  Clemm  goes  in) 
Zu.     (Rising)    I  don'  reckon  it  make  no  difference 

'bout  dis  heah  bush  now!     (Goes  to  side  door  and  sits 

on  step  disconsolately.   The  girls  come  running  back) 
Mabel.    Here 's  the  finest  cherry  on  the  tree  for  the 

prettiest  mouth !    Open,  who  gets  it !     (Girls  open  their 

mouths.    Mabel  eats  cherry) 
Gertrude.    O,  vanity ! 


210  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Mab.    No,  I  just  took  it  for  Virginia. 

Annie.  Let's  play  Ant'ny  Over  while  we're  waiting! 
Where 's  a  ball  ?  Bony,  get  a  ball ! 

Bony.  Can't  do  it,  missis !  Y'  all  los'  it  las'  time 
yo's  all  here! 

Dora.  Marlow  Bright  then!  Half  with  me  and 
half  with  Mabel !  (Girls  divide,  the  two  companies  tak- 
ing opposite  bases  some  distance  apart) 

Dora.    Marlow,  marlow,  marlow  bright ! 
How  many  miles  to  the  old  turnpike  ? 

Mab.    Three  score  and  ten ! 

Dora.    Can  we  get  there  by  candle  light  ? 

Mab.    Yes,  if  your  toes  are  tripping  light ! 

Dora.    Any  robbers  on  the  way  ? 

Mab.    Three  blind  witches,  so  they  say, 

And  Robin  Hood  with  all  his  men  ! 

(With  the  last  word  the  girls  exchange  bases,  the 
travellers,  with  Dora,  trying  to  reach  the  opposite  base 
without  being  caught  by  the  robbers  with  Mabel.  Vir- 
ginia comes  to  the  door  of  cottage) 

Annie.  There's  Virginia!  (Girls  stop  playing  as 
Virginia  joins  them) 

Gert.    How  pretty  you  look ! 

Mab.    You  're  a  real  nymph ! 

Annie.    Come,  let 's  be  off  now !     (Picks  up  a  basket) 

Vir.     Girls  —  I  —  there  is  n't  going  to  be  any  picnic. 

Girls.    No  picnic ! 

Vir.    But  a  wedding. 

Girls.    A  wedding!    Where?    Where? 

Vir.    Right  here — under  the  bay  tree. 

Girls.    Who?    Who? 

Vir.    Why — cousin  Edgar — and — 

Girls.  You !  you !  (All  talk  at  once  in  excited  bab- 
ble. Virginia  breaks  from  them  and  runs  into  the  house. 
Girls  keep  tumultuous  talk  partly  distinguishable) 


THE  POET  211 

Gert.    He 's  so  handsome ! 

Sallie.    He 's  a  prince ! 

Annie.    Too  young  to  be  married ! 

Ethel.    He's  twenty! 

Gladys.    Older! 

Mab.    No! 

Mamie.    Virginia  is  a  baby ! 

Alma.    She 's  taller  than  any  of  us ! 

Annie.     But  younger ! 

Sallie.    Yonder  's  Allie  Kirby ! 

Mamie.    Won't  she  be  surprised !    I  was  n't  one  bit ! 

Annie.    Nor  I ! 

Other  Girls.    Nor  I!    Nor  I! 

Ethel.    I'll  tell  her! 

Annie.    No,  let  me! 

Other  Girls.    I  will !    I  will ! 

(As  Allie  enters  all  the  girls  rush  to  her  and  talk  at 
once,  trying  to  tell  her  the  news.  Mrs.  Clemm  and  Vir- 
ginia come  out  of  the  house  and  join  them) 

Mrs.  C.  My  little  yard  never  held  so  many  flowers 
before. 

Allie.    Is  it  true,  Mrs.  Clemm  ? 

Annie.  Of  course  it  is !  But  you  're  not  going  to  let 
him  take  her  away  from  us ! 

Mrs.  C.    No,  my  dears.    She  will  be  one  of  you  still. 

Vir.    Where  is  Edgar  ? 

Bony.  'Deed,  he  wah  in  de  orchard  'bout  two 
drecklys  ago. 

Vir.    He  doesn't  know  I'm  ready.    I '11  go  tell  him ! 

Girls.    Do!  do! 

Mrs.  C.    Daughter! 

Girls.    Do  let  her  go,  Mrs.  Clemm ! 

Mab.    We '11  all  go!    What  fun! 

Gert.    We  '11  play  '  hunt  the  bridegroom ! ' 

(Girls  run  off,  disappearing  in  various  directions) 


212          SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Mrs.  C.  What  will  Doctor  Barlow  think  ?  (Goes 
in.  Allie,  the  last  of  the  girls,  pauses  as  she  passes  to  the 
side  door  where  Zurie  is  sitting) 

Allie.  Why,  Mum  Zurie,  you  look  as  if  Miss  Virginia 
were  going  to  be  buried  instead  of  married. 

Zu.  (Jumping  at  the  word  '  buried')  Sho'  now, 
can't  Zurie  hab  de  toothache  wheneber  she  please,  missus  ? 

Allie.    Toothache  ?    O,  I  'm  sorry,  Mum  Zurie. 

Zu.  Mars  Edgah  he's  a  mighty  fineyoung  man !  Yo' 
won't  see  no  sech  grow  up  roun'  heab  ! 

Allie.    But  what  a  pity  he  isn't  rich ! 

Zu.  Rich  ?  Wha'  fo'  Mars  Edgah  want  to  be  rich  ? 
All  he  got  to  do  is  jes  scribble,  scribble  on  a  piece  o' 
papah,  an'  de  gol'  come  rollin'  down  de  chimney !  Rich ! 
Yo'  better  say  yo'  prayers  yo'  get  a  Mars  Edgah  too ! 

Allie.    I  '11  get  you  to  pray  for  me,  Mum  Zurie. 

(Runs  away  laughing) 

Zu.  Wha'  fo'  now  she  say  I  look  lak  Miss  Babylam' 
gwine  ter  be  buried  ?  O,  de  good  Lawd  hep  oP  Zurie ! 

(Goes  in.  Enter  Poe,  left.  He  is  moody  and  dis- 
turbed) 

Poe.  I  feel  it — a  wind  from  out  that  solitude.  It 
calls  me  back.  ...  it  calls  me  back.  .  .  . 

Vir.     (Without,  calling)     Edgar! 

Poe.  Sweet  voice  from  the  fields  of  the  sun !  (Prays) 
Jehovah,  guide  thou  me!  (Virginia  peers  around  a 
shrub)  Who  could  lock  life's  door  on  such  a  face  ?  It  is 
God's  gift.  I  take  it.  (Virginia^  comes  to  him  slowly. 
He  tabes  her  in  his  arms.  Mrs.  Clemm  and  the  minister 
come  out  of  the  house  and  pause  on  the  steps  looking  at 
them.  The  girls  come  rushing  back  laughing  and  shout- 
ing, and  at  sight  of  Poe  and  Virginia  become  suddenly 
silent) 

(CURTAIN) 


THE  POET  213 


ACT   III. 


Scene  I:  Interior  of  Clemm  cottage.  A  large  room 
simply  furnished.  Low  fire  burning  in  fireplace.  Poe  at 
table  writing.  Suddenly  drops  pen  and  picks  up  two 
letters) 

Poe.  1  must  destroy  these.  She  must  not  know.  .  . 
My  wife.  .  .  (drops  letters  absentmindedly)  .  .  .  Mar- 
ried. Married?  What  spirit  so  subtly  fine  can  mingle 
here  ?  .  .  .  .  Back,  back,  ye  troops  of  devils  damned  or 
angels  blest — I  know  not  which  to  call  ye — summoning 
me  to  those  lone  regions  of  the  mind  where  none  may 
follow !  None  ?  .  .  Helen  could  tread  those  airy  worlds 
with  me!  .  .  .  Helen!  .  .  Far,  far  as  zenith  stars  that 
ride  the  blue  meridian  thou  art,  and  I,  deep,  deep,  to 
nadir  sink !  (Drops  his  head  to  the  table) 

Virginia.  (Without)  Edgar!  (He  lifts  his  head 
smiling  as  she  enters) 

Vir.  (Holding  out  a  book)  O,  I  know  the  alphabet ! 
I  can  say  it  all !  (Gives  him  the  book)  Watch  now,  and 
see  if  I  make  a  mistake ! 

Edgar.     (Smiling.)     I  '11  hardly  need  the  book,  dear. 

Vir.  (Pouting.)  O,  I  forget  that  you  know  every- 
thing ! 

Poe.  Not  everything.  (Taking  her  face  between  his 
hands  as  she  sits  on  his  knee,  the  book  falling  at  their 
feet)  I  do  not  know  how  to  be  happy  when  this  beauti- 
ful face  is  gone.  My  wife  is  the  fairest  lady  in  all  the 
world. 


214  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Vir.  Then  what  does  it  matter  about  this  old  Greek, 
Edgar  ?  (Touching  book  with  her  foot) 

Poe.  Just  this.  You  can  not  always  be  young  and 
beautiful,  and  when  you  are  no  longer  the  fairest  I  want 
you  to  be  the  wisest. 

Vir.    And  if  I  am  you  will  love  me  always  ? 

Poe.    Always. 

Vir.    Give  me  the  book !     (Picks  it  up)     O,  I  will  eat 
Greek !    I  will  breakfast  with  the  heroes,  dine  with  the 
bards,  and  sup  with  the  gods !    But  what  a  pity    one 
must  begin  with  the  alphabet  to  end  with  —  what  were 
those  lovely  lines  I  found  in  your  book  yesterday  ? 
And  Helen  on  the  walls  rose  like  a  star, 
And  every  Trojan  said  'she's  worth  our  blood,' 
And  every  Greek  ploughed  new  his  way  to  her  — 
Go  on,  Edgar !    I'm  sure  you  know  them ! 

(As  she  repeats  the  lines  he  presses  her  head  to  his 
shoulder  and  puts  his  hand  over  her  eyes.  His  face  is 
full  of  agony,  but  there  is  only  sweetness  in  his  voice.) 

Poe.    Not  now,  my  little  wife.    Some  other  time. 

Vir.  Helen  is  such  a  beautiful  name.  I  wish  I  had 
been  named  Helen. 

Poe.    Thank  God  you  are  not ! 

Vir.     (Looking  up  hastily)     Why— 

Poe.  I  mean  that  I  want  you  to  be  just  as  you 
are  —  my  Virginia — nothing  else ! 

Vir.  (Seeing  be  is  troubled)  I  am  keeping  you  from 
your  work.  You  should  have  sent  me  away.  I'll  be 
angry  with  you,  Edgar,  if  you  let  me  disturb  you.  Now 
I'm  going  to  find  the  last  rose  of  summer  for  you. 

Poe.    But  you  haven't  said  your  lesson. 

Vir.  O!  (begins)  Alpha,  beta,  — now  if  I  say  them 
right  you  are  to  give  me  a  kiss  for  reward ! 

Poe.  And  if  you  miss  one,  I'll  give  you  a  kiss  for 
encouragement. 


THE  POET  215 

Vir.  (Seeing  letter)  O,  a  letter  from  New  York! 
You've  made  me  your  secretary,  you  know,  and  of 
course  I  must  read  your  letters!  (Picks  it  up  and 
glances  at  it)  He  says  Mr.  Willis  will  certainly  give  you 
a  place  on  his  paper.  (Drops  letter  and  looks  at  him 
quietly)  It  is  your  chance  for  fortune. 

Poe.    I  am  not  going,  love. 

Vir.  If  you  go  now  it  means  success,  if  you  wait 
failure. 

Poe.    I  shall  not  go,  Virginia. 

Vir.    If  you  were  not  married  you  would  go. 

Poe.    Then  I  am  glad  I  can  not  go. 

Vir.    But  you  can  go,  Edgar. 

Poe.  My  darling,  I  will  never  take  you  away  from 
your  mocking  birds  and  roses.  Don't  you  think  any 
more  about  it.  Run  away  now  and  find  me  a  flower. 
You  will  have  to  look  sharp  under  the  leaves,  for  the 
wind  is  whistling  to-day.  Our  little  sham  winter  has 
begun  to  bluster.  (Exit  Virginia)  She  shall  not  suffer. 
She  shall  not !  Though  my  heart  surges  like  a  prisoned 
sea  hers  shall  not  move  her  bosom's  alabaster!  .... 
Why  didn't  I  burn  that  letter.  (Throws  it  into  the  fire. 
Take  up  the  other  one)  I  must  keep  the  lawyer's.  I 
shall  need  it.  (Puts  it  in  his  pocket)  Now  work  — 
work — work  —  (Resumes  writing)  '  The  Kingdom  of  the 
Sun  is  peopled  with  beings  whose  distinguishing  attri- 
bute is  color  instead  of  form  as  with  us.  This  color 
varies  with  each  thought  of  the  spirit  that  it  invests, 
and  also  with  the  eye  that  beholds  it.  There  is  no  need 
to  pellet  the  ear  with  rude  words,  for  the  most  refined 
meanings  and  emotions  are  conveyed  by  these  subtle  va- 
riations of  color  coming  and  going  like  breathing  light. 
Were—'  (Enter  Mrs.  Clemm) 

Mrs.  C.  Edgar,  dear,  your  breakfast  has  been  wait- 
ing two  hours. 


216  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Poe.  O,  thank  you,  aunt.  Don't  trouble  about  me 
this  morning.  I  shall  want  nothing. 

Mrs.  C.  But,  Edgar,  my  son,  I  must  speak.  You 
do  not  sleep  and  eat  as  people  should  who  wish  to  live 
long  for  those  who  love  them. 

Poe.  Dear  aunt,  pray  —  we'll  talk  about  it  some 
other  time.  I  must  work  now ! 

Mrs.  C.  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you,  love,  but  there  is 
one  question  I  must  ask  you.  Have  you  heard  from  the 
lawyer  ?  (Poe  is  silent)  A  letter  came.  I  thought  you 
would  tell  me,  and  not  force  me  to  ask  about  what  I 
must  know.  Is  the  place  sold  ? 

Poe.    No. 

Mrs.  C.    But  it  will  be  ?    We  must  lose  our  home  ? 

Poe.  No,  darling  mother!  I  am  going  to  pay  off 
everything!  This  very  article  I  am  writing  will  bring 
me  fame  if  I  finish  it.  So  please  help  me  by  not  worrying 
one  bit,  and  don't  let  our  Virginia  suspect  anything. 

Mrs.  C.  It  would  kill  her!  O,  Edgar,  I  have  been 
wanting  to  tell  you  how  grateful  I  am  to  you  for  your 
gentleness  to  her.  Though  she  looks  so  strong,  she  has 
been  frail  from  her  birth.  I  know  that  she  must  die 
early.  I  ought  to  have  told  you — that  day — but  I 
could  think  of  nothing.  You  will  forgive  me,  Edgar  ? 
She  is  such  a  child.  I  wonder  at  your  patience.  But  you 
will  never  be  impatient  with  her,  Edgar  ? 

Poe.  If  I  am,  may  God  that  moment  end  my  villain's 
life !  Go  now,  sweet  mother,  for  I  must  work,  and  re- 
member that  you  are  to  be  troubled  about  nothing. 
(Exit  Mrs.  Clemm,  right,  rear)  Goodbye,  Art!  Thou 
pure  chrystalline  dream !  I  must  turn  my  brain  into  a 
mint  and  coin  money !  O,  Poesy,  thou  only  divine  mis- 
tress given  to  man,  some  day  I  will  return  to  thee ! 
(Writes)  '  Were  zephyrs  made  visible  by  means  of  ever 
changing  hues — '  (Bony  and  Tat  rush  into  the  room. 


THE  POET  217 

Poe  glares  at  them  with  a  face  of  fury.  They  turn  to 
fly  panic-stricken.  Tat  trips  on  a  chair  and  lies  moaning: 
Poe  goes  to  her) 

Poe.     (Gently)    Are  you  hurt,  Tatsy  ? 

Bony.  (At  door,  turning  back,  suddenly  impudent  at 
sound  of  Foe's  softened  voice)  She  jes  sullin',  Mars 
Edgah.  She  play  possum  like  dat  wid  me ! 

Poe.  Get  out,  you  little  imp!  (Bony  vanishes) 
Where  are  you  hurt,  Tatsy  ?  (She  moans  bitterly)  Poor 
little  girl!  Her  foot  is  twisted.  A  sprain  perhaps. 
(Picks  her  up  and  carries  her  to  sofa)  Never  mind !  I '  ve 
got  a  fairy  in  a  bottle  will  cure  that  in  a  jiffy.  Just  rub 
it  on,  and  ho,  Tatsy  is  well  again  ! 

(Enter  Zurie,  Bony  clinging  to  her) 

Zu.  Wha'  my  chile  ?  Lawdy  God,  my  chile  sho'  'nuf 
hurt !  (Goes  to  Tatsy) 

Poe.    It 's  the  foot,  Zurie.    Be  careful ! 

Zu.  Yas,  I's  seen  dat  foot  befoh!  (Gives  foot  a 
yank)  Dat 's  her  oP  trick,  Mars  Edgah.  She  jes  foolin' 
yo' !  Don'  yo'  be  so  soft  hearted  next  time.  Yo'  jes  take 
her  by  de  back  ob  de  neck  and  wring  her  head  off! 

Poe.    I  certainly  will ! 

(Exit  Zurie,  drawing  Tat.  Poe  goes  back  to  his 
work.  Groans,  and  looks  with  desperation  at  his 
manuscript) 

Poe.  O,  if  this  eludes  me !  1  must  not  lose  it  now ! 
( Writes)  '  In  this  Kingdom  of  the  Sun  there  is  a  central 
creating  light  that  plays  upon  these  color-beings  with  its 
own  transmuting — ' 

(Re-enter  Mrs.  Clemm,  bearing  a  tray) 

Mrs.  C.  My  dear,  I've  brought  you  some  toast  and 
an  egg. 

Poe.  (Jumping  up  and  staring  at  her)  They  don't 
eat  toast  and  eggs  in  the  Kingdom  of  the  Sun ! 

Mrs.  C.    Edgar! 


218  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Poe.  Forgive  me!  It's  just  something  I'm  writing 
here.  But  for  God's  sake  take  the  stuff  away ! 

(Mrs.  Clemm  turns  to  go,  the  tray  trembling  in  her 
hands.  Poe  runs  to  her  and  kisses  her)  You  sweetest 
and  best  of  mothers,  don't  you  see  that  if  I  eat  this  I'll 
spend  the  next  two  hours  digesting  toast  and  eggs,  and 
if  I  don't  eat  it  I  '11  be  making  our  fortune,  putting  a 
roof  over  our  heads,  and  keeping  our  Virginia  happy ! 

Mrs.  C.    I  only  meant  to  be  kind,  Edgar. 

Poe.  I  know  you  did,  and  you're  my  darling 
mother,  —  but  don't  be  kind  any  more. 

(Exit  Mrs.  Clemm.  Poe  sits  despairingly  at  table. 
Enter  Ethel  and  Annie) 

Eth.  O,  Edgar,  where  is  Virginia  ?  We  want  her  to 
go  nutting  with  us. 

Annie.  We  shall  have  her  now!  You  shan't  keep 
her  all  to  yourself  just  because  you ' ve  married  her ! 

Poe.    Take  her  by  all  means ! 

Eth.  You  needn't  be  vicious  about  it.  Where  is 
she? 

Poe.  I  don't  know,  —  and  pardon  if  I  say  that  just 
at  this  moment  I  don't  care ! 

(Gathers  up  papers  and  goes  toward  stairway  in 
corner  of  room) 

Annie.  You  needn't  run  from  us.  I'm  sure  we're 
glad  to  go.  I  '11  find  Virginia. 

Eth.  And  I'll  write  that  note  to  Gladys  while 
you 're  gone.  (Seats  herself  in  Poe' s  chair.  Exit  Annie, 
left,  rear)  Come  back,  if  you  want  to,  Edgar.  You 
won't  disturb  me  at  all.  (Writes.  Poe  pauses  on  stair- 
way and  looks  at  her.  Ethel  lifts  her  eyes)  You  need  n't 
look  so  far  to  see  me.  I'm  not  the  North  Pole!  What 
are  you  thinking  of,  Edgar  ? 

Poe.  Of  what  Anacreon  said  to  a  fly  that  lighted  on 
his  brow  when  he  was  composing  an  ode  to  Venus. 


THE  POET  219 

Ethel    O!    What  was  it? 

Poe.    Away,  thott  rude  and  slight  impertinence, 
That  with  thy  puny  and  detested  bill 
Dost  think  to  feed  on  immortality. 

(Goes  upstairs) 

Ethel.  Beast!  (Writes)  Virginia  spoils  him.  If  I 
had  him  now  I'd  soon  make  a  nice  comfortable  husband 
out  of  him !  .  .  .  An  envelope  ?  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  (Takes  one) 
Stamp?  .  .  Yes.  .  .  (Taies  one)  I'll  get  Bony  to  mail 
this  for  me. 

(Exit,  right,  rear.    Poe  comes  down  stairway) 

Poe.  Gone  ?  Deliverance !  It 's  too  chilly  for  work 
upstairs.  (Coughs)  What  shall  I  do  here  this  winter 
with  only  one  comfortable  room  in  the  house?  Keep 
warm  by  the  fire  in  my  brain,  I  suppose.  (Sits  and 
writes.  Virginia  is  heard  without,  humming  a  song. 
She  enters,  left,  front,  with  a  rose  in  her  hand) 

Vir.  Darling,  I  found  it  deep  under  the  leaves  —  Oh ! 
(Starts  out  softly.  Poe  writes  on  without  looking 
up.  At  the  door  she  turns  and  throws  the  rose  towards 
him.  It  falls  onto  the  table  and  upsets  ink  over  papers) 

Poe.     (Leaping  up)     By  every  fiend  in  hell ! 

(Mrs.  Clemm  rushes  in,  followed  by  Zurie,  Tat  and 
Bony) 

Mrs.  C.    My  son,  what  is  the  matter  ? 

Poe.    See  what  that  child  has  done ! 

Mrs.  C.     (With  dignity)    Your  wife,  Edgar. 

Poe.  My  wife!  Great  God!  O,  Helen!  Helen! 
(Rushes  from  the  room,  left  rear) 

Bony.  I  tol'  yo'  he  wah  mad !  I  done  tol'  yo'  Mars 
Edgah  gone  mad !  He  look  at  me  jes  so !  (Mimics) 

Tat.  (Looking  through  window)  Dah  he  go  now 
troo  de  orchard  jes  a  runnin' ! 


220  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Bony.    Obah  de  fence ! 

Tat.    An'  no  hat  on ! 

Zu.  Stop  yo'  mouf  an'  come  out  o'  heah,  yo'  wuss- 
less  niggahs !  I  make  yo'  know  wha'  yo'  b'longs ! 

(Takes  them  out) 

Mrs.  C.    O,  Virginia !    What  an  hour  for  you ! 

Vir.    What  an  hour  for  him,  mamma! 

Mrs.  C.    Strange  child !    Not  to  think  of  yourself ! 

Vir.    How  can  I,  when  he  is  suffering  so  ? 

Mrs.  C.    My  angel  daughter ! 

Vir.  (Kissing-  her)  We  will  be  brave,  my  mother.  I 
hear  the  girls.  Go  to  them  one  moment — do!  (Exit 
Mrs.  Clemm) .  .  .  Helen !  Dear  God  above !  (Drops  on 
her  knees  by  a  chair.  After  a  moment  of  agony,  rises, 
goes  to  table  and  looks  at  papers)  What  is  it  I  have 
ruined  ?  (Reads  silently)  O,  what  beauty !  .  .  .  I  think 
I  can  make  this  out  and  copy  it  for  him.  But  now  he 
may  never  finish  it.  The  heavenly  moment  is  gone.  .  . 
and  I  robbed  him  of  it.  .  .  I,  who  should  guard  him  and 
keep  the  world  away.  That  is  my  little  part — too  lit- 
tle, God  knows !  O,  if  I  could  really  help  him ! 

(Enter  Ethel  and  Annie) 

Eth.  O,  Virginia,  now  that  we're  rid  of  that 
troublesome  husband  let 's  have  one  of  our  good  old- 
fashioned  times !  We  '11  sit  by  the  fire  and  tell  tales.  It 's 
too  cold  anyway  to  go  to  the  woods. 

Vir.     (Absently)     Edgar  is  there. 

Annie.  And  there  let  him  stay !  I'm  sure  it's  better 
for  both  of  you.  You  hang  about  him  too  much,  Vir- 
ginia. He'll  quit  loving  you,  mamma  says  he  will,  if 
you're  not  more  sensible.  Help  me  draw  up  this  sofa, 
Ethel.  (They  pull  sofa  to  the  nre.  Annie  settles  herself 
comfortably)  I  feel  just  like  giving  you  a  lecture,  Vir- 
ginia. You  must  make  Edgar  go  out  more.  Anybody 
will  get  queer  shut  up  here.  The  other  day  when  mamma 


THE  POET  221 

asked  him  to  come  to  our  party  he  was  n't  more  than 
half  polite  when  he  refused,  and  we  were  going  to  have 
Mr.  Melrose  Libbie  to  meet  him  too.  Said  his  work 
would  keep  him  at  home !  Now  you  know,  Virginia, 
that  poetry  isn't  work.  It's  just  dash  off  a  line  now 
and  then,  and  there  you  are!  Mr.  Libbie  said  so.  O,  he 
had  the  sweetest  thing  on  the  woman's  page  in  last  Sun- 
day's paper !  Did  you  see  it  ?  You  'd  better  call  Edgar's 
attention  to  it.  Mamma  read  it  to  all  of  us  at  the 
breakfast  table,  and  — 

Eth.  O,  stop  your  chatter,  Annie,  and  let  Virginia 
tell  us  one  of  her  fairy  stories  just  as  she  used  to  do. 
We'll  forget  all  about  Edgar  and  make  believe  she  isn't 
married  at  all. 

Vir.  (Painfully)  Forgive  me,  dear  girls,  but  I've 
some  work  that  I  must  do  to-day. 

Mabel.    Must  do !    Who  ever  heard  the  like  ? 

Vir.  I  was  wrong.  It  is  some  work  that  I  choose 
to  do— that  it  will  be  my  happiness  to  do. 

Ethel.    For  Edgar  ? 

Vir.    Yes. 

Annie.    You  are  a  little  fool ! 

Vir.    Yes.  .  .  I  am  a  little  fool. 

Ethel.    O,  there 's  help  for  you  if  you  know  it ! 

Vir.  If  I  were  not  a  little  fool  I  could  be  of  more  help 
to  Edgar. 

Ethel  and  Annie.    Oh! 

Annie.     (Jumping  up)    Then  we  can't  stay  to-day ! 

Vir.    I  am  so  sorry — but  — 

Annie.  O,  we  might  as  well  give  you  up  first  as  last! 
(Exeunt  girls) 

Vir.  (Sits  at  table  and  stares  at  the  papers) 

A  little  fool.  ...  a  little  fool. 

(CURTAIN) 


222  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Scene  II:  Same  room  as  before.  Night.  Virginia 
sits  motionless  in  the  dim  firelight.  Mrs.  Clemm  comes 
softly  down  the  stairs) 

Mrs.  C.    Virginia  ? 

Vir.  Naughty  mamma !  You  said  you  would  sleep. 
What  a  story  to  tell  your  little  girl ! 

Mrs.  C.  (Advancing)  The  rain — wakes  me.  (Comes 
to  fire)  Did  Edgar  take  his  cloak,  dear  ? 

Vir.    No,  mother. 

Mrs.  C.    Are  you  not  cold  in  that  dress,  darling  ? 

Vir.  O  no— quite  comfortable  —  and  Edgar  likes  me 
in  white,  you  know.  (A  window  rattles.  Both  look 
anxiously  toward  the  door) 

Mrs.  C.  What  a  gust !  .  .  I  wonder  what  winter  is 
like  at  the  north.  (Virginia  looks  at  her  quickly,  and 
both  drop  their  eyes)  .  .  .  To  think  of  him  out  on  a 
night  like  this !  And  he  has  not  been  well  lately.  Had 
he  no  purpose  ?  Did  he  say  nothing-  when  he  went  out  ? 

Vir.    He  said  he  was  going  to  seek  Truth. 

Mrs.  C.    And  what  does  he  mean  by  truth,  Virginia  ? 

Vir.  O,  I  don't  know.  When  he  is  talking  I  under- 
stand, but  when  he  is  gone  it  all  fades  and  I  know  noth- 
ing about  it. 

Mrs.  C.  Nor  does  Edgar,  mark  me,  dear.  He  is 
trying  to  know  things  that  the  wise  God  decreed  should 
remain  unknown  to  mortals.  That  is  what  makes  him 
so  unhappy.  .  .  Did  he  eat  his  breakfast  this  morning, 
Virginia  ? 

Vir.    No,  mamma. 

Mrs.  C.  Did  he  take  any  food  yesterday?  .  .  .  Tell 
me,  daughter.  I  can  not  help  you  if  I  do  not  know. 
( Virginia  begins  to  sob)  There !  there,  darling !  A  little 
patience  and  we  '11  get  him  over  this. 

Vir.    O,  mother ! 

Mrs.  C.    Come  here,  my  little  girl.     (Takes  Virginia 


THE  POET  223 

in  her  arms)  Now  tell  me!  Don't  let  the  heart  go 
heavy  when  mother  ears  are  waiting. 

Vir.  He.  .  .  .  goes  out  at  night.  .  .  .  and  I  follow 
him  because  it  kills  me  to  think  of  him  wandering  alone. 
We  were  on  Burney  hill  last  night. 

Mrs.  C.  Five  miles !  .  .  .  Then  that  is  what  these 
pale  cheeks  and  dark  eyes  mean !  And  Edgar  let  you  go ! 

Vir.  No !  I  go  I  I  am  not  a  child,  mother.  Ah,  I 
knew  you  would  not  understand ! 

Mrs.  C.  Yes,  yes,  I  do,  Virginia.  I  know  he  suffers, 
but  you  — 

Vir.  Don't  speak  of  me!  You  shame  me!  Were  I 
to  lie  down  on  those  coals  my  torture  would  be  less  than 
his.  Remember  that,  mother.  When  you  doubt,  as  you 
surely  will,  remember  that  I  told  you,  and  I  know.  His 
mind  is  a  living  thing,  throbbing  through  his  body  and 
leaving  him  no  shield  of  flesh.  O,  mamma,  help  him ! 
Promise  me !  You  will  never  forsake  him  ? 

Mrs.  C.    Never,  my  love. 

Vir.  I  would  not  have  told  you,  but  my  strength  is 
gone,  and  somebody  must  know, — somebody  who  is 
strong.  (A  gust  shakes  the  window)  O,  my  darling ! 
Out  in  that  blackness  alone !  And  if  I  were  there  I  could 
say  nothing.  That  is  the  pity  of  it,  mamma.  I  have  no 
words,  and  thought  without  tongue  is  nothing  so  long 
as  we  are  mortal  and  wear  these  bodies.  Some  day 
it  may  be  enough  just  to  be  a  soul,  but  not  now — 
not  now! 

Mrs.  C.    O,  my  daughter ! 

Vir.  Promise  me,  mamma,  that  if  I  die  you  will  find 
Helen.  She  could  help  him ! 

Mrs.  C.  (Rising)  Virginia,  if  you  say  another  word 
like  that  I  shall  think  you  are  mad — or  I  am!  (Bursts 
into  weeping) 

Vir.    Darling,  darling  mother!     Now  I  have  given 


224  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

you  all  my  burdens  you  will  grow  weak  under  them,  and 
I  want  strength,  strength  by  my  side ! 

Mrs.  C.  (Calm)  You  must  go  to  bed,  dear.  I  will 
wait  for  Edgar. 

Vir.    No,  no! 

Mrs.  C.    I  will  coax  him  to  eat  something. 

Vir.     (Smiling  sadly)     Coax  him,  mamma  ? 

Mrs.  C.    Yes,  dear.    Go  now. 

Vir.    I  can  not. 

Mrs.  C.    I  command  you,  my  daughter. 

Vir.  Please  do  not  command  me.  You  have  never 
had  to  pardon  disobedience  in  me. 

Mrs.  C.  Nor  shall  I  have  cause  now.  Obey  me,  Vir- 
ginia. 

Vir.    W  ould  you  send  me  into  hell,  mother  ? 

Mrs.  C.    Daughter! 

Vir.  That  is  what  a  bed  is  to  me  when  Edgar  is  out 
like  this. 

Mrs.  C.  You  make  too  much  of  these  wanderings. 
Night  and  day  are  alike  to  him. 

Vir.  Ah,  it  is  not  the  night  that  I  fear!  .  .  .  Go, 
mamma!  It  is  you  who  must  rest.  O,  how  we  need 
these  strong  arms  —  this  clear  head !  I  shall  nod  in  my 
chair  for  the  thought  of  you  getting  your  needed  rest 
will  bring  the  winks  to  my  own  eyes.  Come !  (Draws  her 
toward  stairway)  I  promise  you  that  I  will  sleep  in  the 
big  chair  as  snug  and  tight  as  kitty  herself.  (Kisses'her) 

Mrs.  C.  (On  the  stairs)  I  can  not  leave  my  sick 
child  to  watch.  You  ask  me  to  do  an  inhuman  thing, 
Virginia.  I  will  not  go. 

Vir.  Mother!  ...  Do  not  let  me  hurt  you.  .  .  the 
dearest,  the  most  unselfish  of  mothers.  .  .  but  it  is  better 
for  me  to  meet  my  husband  alone. 

(Mrs.  Clemm  tarns  and  goes  slowly  upstairs.  Vir- 
ginia goes  back  to  fire) 


THE  POET  225 

Vir.  Watch  and  pray !  I  can  but  watch  and  pray ! 
.  .  He  said  'twas  love  he  wanted.  .  .  and  I  brought 
him  that.  .  .  love  that  shakes  but  with  the  globe  itself. 
But  it  does  not  help.  .  .  .  'twas  all  wrong.  .  .  all 
wrong!  (Weeps.  Rises,  and  busies  herself  about  an 
oven  on  the  hearth)  Three  times  I  have  prepared  his 
supper  that  it  might  be  fresh  enough  to  tempt  him.  But 
now.  .  .  I  am  so  tired.  I  must  try  to  keep  this  warm. 
The  sight  of  it  may  make  him  angry.  .  .  but  I  must  try. 
(Arranges  some  clothes  on  a  chair)  He  will  be  so  wet 
with  the  rain.  Ah.  I  can  do  nothing.  .  .  nothing. 
(Looks  toward  door)  He  is  coming !  Strength,  strength. 
O  my  God ! 

(Poe  throws  door  open.  Turns  and  speaks  as  if  to 
companions  outside) 

Poe.  Goodnight,  goodnight,  brave  Beauty's  fear- 
less angels!  (Comes  in)  Well,  Dame  Venus,  what 
thoughts  for  your  hobbling  Vulcan  ? 

Vir.  (Brightly)  My  Hermes,  you  mean.  I'm  sure 
you  're  feather-footed,  you  go  so  far  and  fast. 

Poe.  Why,  sweet-mouth,  a  kiss  for  that !  (Kisses  her) 

Vir.    O,  my  love,  you  are  dripping  with  the  rain. 

Poe.  Well,  and  so  are  the  trees.  Not  a  leaf  out 
there  but  is  shaking  her  pearls.  Who  flies  from  Nature 
but  man  ?  Let  her  be  terrible,  glorious,  worthy  of  his 
eyes  and  his  heart,  and  forthwith  he  takes  to  his  hole. 

Vir.  I  hate  her  to-night.  She  kept  me  from  follow- 
ing you. 

Poe.  Virginia !  (Seizes  her  hands,  crushing  them  in 
bis,  and  gazing  at  her  with  fierce  earnestness)  Never  do 
that  again !  Never  again !  (Lets  her  hands  fall,  and 
turns  toward  door  as  if  he  must  go  out.  Her  eyes  follow 
him  eagerly,  but  she  tries  to  speak  carelessly) 

Vir.  Here  are  your  dry  things,  dear,  and  I  've  kept 
something  hot  for  your  supper. 


226  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER   PLAYS 

Poe.  (Turning)  Yes.  .  .  this  is  a  very  valuable  skin 
of  mine .  Make  it  comfortable.  But  what  of  me,  Vir- 
ginia? That  something  here  burning  with  fires  that 
would  brighten  Olympos'  head !  Have  you  no  welcome 
for  me  ?  ( Virginia  is  silent)  Why  are  you  so  pale  ?  Light 
all  the  lamps !  You  should  not  sit  in  the  dark.  There  are 
no  stars  in  this  den ! 

Vir.  (Hurriedly  lighting  lamp)  I  'm  sorry,  love,  but 
last  night  you  wanted  the  dark — don't  you  remember? 

Poe.  No,  I  don't  remember.  Memory  is  a  hyena, 
always  scratching  up  our  dead  selves!  You  must  not 
remember,  Virginia ! 

Vir.    Yes,  dear. 

Poe.  Forgive  me,  love.  O,  I  am  driving  myself  mad ! 
Selling  myself  to  the  devil  of  prose  that  I  may  bring  in 
that  fool's  litter — money, money, money  —  andfor  what? 
That  we  may  feed  the  flesh  that  devours  our  souls,  and 
hang  such  rubbish  as  this  on  our  backs !  (Sweeps  gar- 
ments from  chair)  O,  Virginia,  if  you  were  brave  enough 
we  would  forget  these  rags  of  the  body  and  go  like 
spirits  to  meet  our  brothers  of  the  night !  They  are  all 
out  there !  Will  you  go  with  me,  my  bride  ? 

Vir.    O,  Edgar ! 

Poe.  Ha!  You  would  rather  ask  them  into  have 
something  dry  and  something  hot !  But  I  must  have  the 
air !  (Throws  door  open.  Lightning  flashes  on  falling 
rain.  Virginia  shrinks  from  the  wind)  Hear  those 
winds!  Gathering  lost  souls  to  the  bosom  of  Night! 
Feel  those  drops !  Every  one  of  them  the  tear  of  a  fallen 
god!  O,  is  it  nothing  but  rain  ?  Ha!  ha!  ha!  (Virginia 
coughs.  Poe  closes  the  door  hastily.  She  coughs 
again) 

Poe.    Don't,  Virginia ! 

Vir.    Yes,  dear. 

Poe.    My  angel!     (Embraces  her.     She  coughs)    O, 


THE  POET  227 

it  is  these  wet  clothes!  (Throws  off  coat,  picks  up 
dressing-  gown  from  the  floor  and  puts  it  on  hurriedly) 

Vir.     (Eagerly)    Your  slippers  too,  dear ! 

Poe.  Yes,  yes,  my  slippers!  (Puts  them  on.  Sits 
in  big-  chair,  taking-  her  on  his  knee,  and  embracing  her 
tenderly)  What  made  you  cough,  Virginia  ? 

Vir.  O,  'twas  nothing,  dear.  'Tis  all  right  now. 
Everything  is  all  right. 

Poe.    Is  it,  little  wisdom  ?    O,  ye  gods ! 

Vir.     (Concealing  anxiety)     Darling  ? 

Poe.    What,  my  beautiful  earth-bird  ? 

Vir.    You  will  take  your  supper  now  ? 

Poe.  (Impatiently)  No,  no !  Is  there  any  wine  in 
the  house  ? 

Vir.    Yes,  love,  but— 

Poe.    I  must  have  it !    Quick !    I  shall  faint. 

Vir.     (Rising)    No,  Edgar.    It  is  food  you  need. 

Poe.     (Rising)    Where  is  it  ? 

Vir.    O,  my  dearest ! 

Poe.    Tell  me,  Virginia !     (Goes  toward  a  closet) 

Vir.  (Getting  before  him)  If  you  were  reaching  for 
a  cup  of  poison,  Edgar,  I  would  risk  my  life,  ay,  risk 
your  love,  to  dash  it  from  you.  And  wine  is  your  poison. 
I  can  not  let  you  drink  death. 

Poe.  Death !  It  is  all  the  life  that  is  left  to  me,  and 
you  deny  it ! 

Vir.    Be  quiet,  love.    You  will  wake  our  mother. 

Poe.    Down,  gods,  and  let  the  lady  sleep ! 

Vir.    She  is  not  well,  Edgar. 

Poe.  But  she  will  be  well  to-morrow,  and  I — I  am 
immortally  sick  and  you  deny  me  a  drop  of  wine. 

Vir.    O,  my  poor  boy !     I  'm  so  sorry  for  you ! 

Poe.  And  is  that  all,  O  Heaven ?  I'm  her  poor  boy, 
and  she  is  so  sorry  for  me!  Why,  here's  a  heart  that 
loosens  in  its  throbs  the  birth-song  of  new  stars !  Come, 


228  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

strike  thy  chime  with  mine,  and  though  all  bells  upon 
the  planet  jingle,  in  us  will  still  be  music ! 

Vir.    O,  Edgar! 

Poe.    Well? 

Vir.    I  can  not  speak. 

Poe.  Virginia,  Virginia !  I  pour  out  my  soul  to  you ! 
I  keep  back  no  drop  of  its  sea!  From  the  infinite, 
shrouded  sources  of  life  I  rush  to  you  in  a  thousand 
singing  rivers,  only  to  waste,  to  burn,  to  die  on  the 
sands  of  silence!  (She  remains  motionless,  her  head 
bowed)  ...  It  is  so  still  upon  the  eternal  peaks.  Will 
you  not  come  up  with  me  and  be  the  bride  of  my  dreams  ? 
You  need  not  speak.  .  .  you  need  not  say  a  word.  Only 
put  the  light  of  poesy  in  your  eyes  and  let  me  see  that 
through  the  channel  of  their  beauty  course  the  mysteries 
that  begin  with  God  and  end  not  with  time !  (She  looks 
at  him.  He  gazes  into  her  eyes)  .  .  Tears.  .  .  only  tears. 
(Turns  away)  Can  a  soul's  eyes  be  dumb?  (She 
sits,  weeping  silently)  .  .  Come  then.  .  talk  of  what  you 
will.  Only  talk !  You  have  read  a  little  Byron  to-day  ? 
The  new  magazine  came  ?  And  you  have  made  me  a 
handkerchief?  (She  sobs.  He  looks  at  her  remorsefully, 
crosses  the  room,  gets  her  harp  and  brings  it  to  the  fire- 
side) Come.  .  sing  to  me,  Virginia.  You  can  do  that. 

Vir.     (Taking harp)     What  shall  I  sing,  dear  ? 

Poe.  Something  to  charm  the  very  heart  of  ^Eolus ! 
That  will  turn  a  tempest  into  a  violet's  breath ! 

Vir.    Ah,  my  love ! 

Poe.    O,  sing — sing  anything! 

Vir.     (Sings) 

Great  and  calm,  cool-bosomed  blue, 
Take  me  to  the  heart  of  you  ! 
Not  where  thy  blue  mystery 
Sweeps  the  surface  of  the  sea, 


THE  POET  229 

Leaving  in  a  dying  gleam 
Living  trouble  of  a  dream ; 
Not  where  loves  of  heaven  lie 
Rosy  'gainst  the  upper  sky 
Burning  with  an  ardent  touch 

Where  an  angel  kissed  too  much ; 

But  where  sight  and  sound  come  not, 

All  of  life  and  love  forgot, 

All  of  Heaven  forfeited 

For  thy  deep  Nirvana  bed. 

Wide  and  far  enfolding  blue, 

Take  me  to  the  heart- 
ier voice  breaks  suddenly) 

Poe.  Virginia!  (She  coughs)  Don't!  (Her  cough 
increases.  She  puts  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips.  Poe 
takes  it  from  her  hand  and  looks  at  it.)  Blood !  (Throws 
handkerchief  into  the  ore,  and  stands  as  if  paralyzed, 
gazing  at  Virginia.  Falls  at  her  feet  and  begins  kissing 
her  skirt)  My  angel !  my  angel !  I  have  killed  my  little 
bride! 

Vir.  (Urging  him  gently  up)  No,  dear.  I  was 
marked  for  this  from  birth.  My  doom  was  written  by 
Heaven,  not  you. 

Poe.  Not  doom,  my  Virginia !  (Rising)  I  will  save 
you,  my  darling !  You  shall  have  everything !  With  the 
sickle  of  a  wish  you  shall  harvest  the  earth !  We  will 
sail  southern  seas!  We  will  follow  the  Spring  as  she 
flies !  I  will  knock  at  the  orient  gates  and  bring  thee  the 
health  of  morning !  I  '11  make  the  world  so  bright  for 
thee,  Hyperion's  self  shall  wear  new  gold  and  shame  re- 
membered suns  from  chronicle !  Spring  from  perfection's 
heart  shall  pluck  her  buds,  and  set  such  gloss  on  Nature 
she  may  laud  her  old  self  in  one  violet's  requiem !  O,  I  '11 


230  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

sing  the  world  into  a  flower  for  thy  bosom !  My  love, 
my  love,  my  love !  (She  coughs  restrainedly.  He  hides 
his  face  till  she  stops)  Even  the  senseless  oak  velvets  its 
rude  sides  to  the  tender  vine!  But  I  —  a  man  —  O,  beast 
too  vile  for  hell !  too  low  to  be  damned ! 

Vir.    Edgar ! 

Poe.  Do  not  touch  me !  Is  not  the  mark  here  ? 
(Touching  his  brow)  O,  where  shall  I  hide  it  ? 

Vir.  (Drawing  him  to  her)  On  my  bosom,  Edgar. 
(Presses  him  to  the  large  chair  and  sits  on  the  arm  of  it, 
caressing  him)  This  forehead  is  as  pure  as  heaven-lit 
ivory  of  angels'  brows ! 

Poe.  O,  golden  heart !  (Kisses  her  over  her  heart) 
I  will  work  so  hard,  Virginia !  We  shall  be  rich,  and  I 
will  take  you  to  some  wonderful  land  where  beauty  can 
not  die !  Will  you  forgive  me  then  when  you  are  bright 
and  strong  in  some  happy  isle  of  roses  ? 

Vir.  I  will  forgive  you  now,  dearest,  if  you  will  do 
one  thing  for  me. 

Poe.    O,  what,  my  darling  ? 

Vir.  Eat  the  poor  little  supper  I  have  cooked  for 
you. 

Poe.    Yes— yes— I  '11  eat  it  though  it  be  hell's  coals ! 

Vir.  Now  that's  a  compliment  to  your  cook,  isn't 
it?  (Takes  food  from  oven  and  puts  it  on  table.  Poe 
eats,  at  first  reluctantly,  then  hungrily) 

Poe.  It  is  late— so  late!  O,  my  Lenore,  you  kept 
up  for  me !  Your  weary  eyes  would  not  close  until  they 
had  found  their  lover !  O,  can  you  forgive  me,  and  take 
me  back  to  your  heart  ?  You  will  love  me  again  ? 

Vir.  Ah,  Edgar,  if  love  were  enough  we  should 
always  be  happy. 

Poe.  Love  me,  love  me,  dear !  I  want  no  more !  And 
this  cough.  .  .  .  we  shall  stop  all  that,  darling !  O,  how 
weary  you  must  be,  and  you  tried  to  have  everything  so 


THE  POET  231 

beautiful  for  me !  How  pretty  your  dress  is !  You  look 
like  a  Naiad  smiling  out  of  a  lily.  But  it 's  too  cold ! 
Here,  I  will  wrap  you !  (Puts  shawl  about  her)  Ah, 
little  wife,  little  wife,  what  evil  power  locked  your  gentle 
heart  with  mine?  Bear  with  me,  love.  It  will  all  be 
different  soon.  I  shall  try  so  hard  the  gods  for  pity  will 
not  let  me  fail !  See  how  I  have  eaten !  You  may  give 
me  more,  love.  You  did  not  cook  this,  I  know.  You 
stole  it  from  Jove's  kitchen. 

Vir.  (Getting-  food)  Yes,  I  did,  and  Jove  caught  me, 
but  he  let  me  go  when  I  told  him  it  was  for  a  poet. 

Poe.  Little  witch!  (Kisses  her)  How  happy  we 
shall  be,  Virginia,  as  soon  as  I  have  money.  I  shall  go  to 
New  York  for  a  year.  It  will  take  only  a  year.  Then  I 
shall  come  back  bringing  the  lady  Fame  with  me,  and 
you  must  not  be  jealous  of  her. 

Vir.     (Slowly)     You  —  would  not — take  me? 

Poe.  Why,  the  north  wind  would  blow  the  Spring 
from  my  little  girl's  cheek !  Just  a  year !  That  is  the 
first  step  —  a  cruel  one — but  we  shall  be  happy  when  it 
is  over.  Just  a  year,  sweetheart!  I  must  take  no 
chances  now !  I  must  win ! 

Vir.  You  shall  not  leave  me !  A  year  will  not  hurt 
me,  Edgar !  But  it  would  kill  me  to  be  left  here.  .  and 
not  know.  .  .  every  minute.  .  . 

Poe.  Do  you  care  so  much,  Lenore  ?  Then  we  will 
both  stay  here.  It  will  take  longer,  but  I  will  work 
harder  — 

Vir.  Enough  for  to-night.  We  are  too  happy  for 
to-morrows,  Edgar.  Now  you  must  have  a  long,  long 


Poe.  No,  no !  No  bed  for  me  to-night !  I  must 
work! 

Vir.  No  bed,  indeed !  I  did  not  say  bed,  my  lord ! 
You  are  going  to  sit  down  here  (Places  him  on  foot- 


232  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

stool)  and  I  shall  sit  here,  (settles  in  chair)  and  your  head 
in  my  lap  —  my  hands  on  your  head  —  and  the  crooning- 
est  of  little  songs  will  bring  you  the  sweetest  snatch  of 
sleep  that  you  ever,  ever  had ! 

Poe.  O,  'tis  heaven,  Virginia!  But  you  are  too 
tired,  my  angel.  You  must  sleep. 

Vir.    And  so  I  shall  when  my  lord  shows  me  the  way. 

(Poe  drops  his  head  on  her  lap.  She  turns  down 
light.  He  falls  asleep  as  she  sings  softly) 

Like  a  fallen  star  on  the  breast  of  the  sea 
My  lover  rests  on  the  heart  of  me; 
The  lord  of  the  tempest  hies  him  down 
From  his  billow-crest  to  his  cavern-throne, 
And  'tis  peace  as  wide  as  the  eye  can  see 
When  my  lover  rests  on  the  heart  of  me. 

(Silence.  Virginia  droops  in  sleep.  No  light  but  dull 
red  coals.) 

(CURTAIN) 


ACT  IV. 


Scene  I:  An  old  bookstore,  New  York.  Bookseller 
arranging  books.  Helen  at  one  side  looking  over  shelves. 
Poe  enters.  He  wears  a  military  cloak  and  jaunty  cap. 
Throws  book  on  table  and  whistles  carelessly. 

Bookseller.  (Looking  book  over  doubtfully)  Forty 
cents. 

Poe.  (Loudly)  Forty  "devils !  (Helen  turns  and 
recognizes  him.  He  does  not  see  her)  Look  at  that 


THE  POET  233 

binding.  You  can't  get  a  Shelley  put  up  like  that  for  less 
than  ten  dollars. 

Hel.     (Aside)     My  book ! 

Bookseller.    It 's  badly  marked. 

Poe.  Marked !  Of  course  it 's  marked.  And  every 
mark  there  worth  its  dollar.  In  ten  years  you  '11  wish 
the  marks  were  as  thick  as  the  letters. 

Bookseller.    Say  fifty,  and  strike  off.  Not  a  cent  more. 

Poe.    Take  it. 

Hel.  To  sell  my  book!  (Moves  slowly  to  door) 
How  pale  he  is !  But  he  is  neatly  dressed.  He  can  not 
need  fifty  cents.  To  sell  my  book!  I'll  speak  to  him 
and  see  if  he  is  past  shame.  (Steps  before  Poe  as  he 
turns  to  go  out) 

Hel.  Mr.  Poe!  Don't  you  remember  me?  'Tis  de- 
lightful to  meet  an  old  friend. 

Poe.     (Bowing  low)     Mrs 

Hel.    Yes,  I  am  Mrs.  Bridgmore. 

Poe.  My  dear  Mrs.  Bridgmore!  The  pleasure  of 
years  gathers  in  this  happy  moment.  Are  you  making 
holiday  purchases  ? 

Hel.  No.  .  just  poking  about.  I  love  these  old 
stores.  I  see  you 've  made  a  sale.  'Tis  a  relief  to  get  rid 
of  old  books  when  we  've  lost  our  love  for  them,  isn't  it? 
They  take  up  good  room  on  our  shelves  pretty  much  as 
people  do  in  our  lives  long  after  we  have  ceased  to  care 
for  their  friendship.  But  what  one  is  weary  of  another 
is  ready  to  take  up.  (To  bookseller)  May  I  see  the 
book  the  gentleman  has  just  disposed  of?  (To  Poe) 
Anything  you  have  liked  will  be  sure  to  please  me. 

Poe.  0,  you  are  mistaken!  I  am  simply  leaving 
the  book  to  be  duplicated  if  possible  for  a  friend  of  mine 
who  has  taken  a  fancy  to  my  copy.  (Gesticulates  to 
bookseller)  One  glance,  Mrs.  Bridgmore,  will  tell  you 
that  the  book  is  not  for  sale. 


234  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Hel.  Ah.  .  .  of  course  not.  Pardon  the  mistake.  It 
seems  to  be  my  fate  to  blunder  where  you  are  con- 
cerned. (Icily)  Good  morning,  Mr.  Poe. 

(As  she  is  going  out  she  drops  her  purse.  Poe  has- 
tens to  pick  it  up  and  restores  it  to  her  with  a  bow.  In 
doing  so  he  forgets  his  shabby  coat  and  throws  back  his 
cloak  over  his  arm,  exposing  a  badly  worn  sleeve.  He 
becomes  suddenly  conscious  of  her  observation,  and 
straightens  up  in  his  most  dignified  fashion) 

Hel.    Thank  you.     (Goes  out) 

Poe.  (Turning  to  bookseller)  Here!  Take  your 
damned  silver !  Give  me  my  book ! 

Bookseller.    A  bargain  's  a  bargain,  sir. 

Poe.  Bargain!  bargain!  Do  you  call  that  theft  a 
bargain?  You  parasite!  you  bookgnat!  You  insect 
feeding  on  men's  brains!  You  worm  in  the  corpse  of 
genius!  My  book,  I  say,  or  by  Hector  I'll  tear  your 
goose-liver  from  your  body,  you  pocket-itching  Jacob ! 

Bookseller.    Here !  take  it ! 

Poe.  There's  your  Judas'  blood!  (Throws  down 
money  and  starts  out  with  the  book.  Enter  Brackett) 

Brackett.     (Stopping  Poe)     Mr.  Poe,  I  believe. 

Poe.  Right,  sir.  And  Brackett,  I  think  your  name 
was  when  I  knew  you. 

Bra.  Quite  right,  Mr.  Poe.  I  saw  you  coming  in 
here,  and  though  you  have  changed  somewhat  with  the 
help  of  years  I  was  sure  it  was  you. 

Poe.  And  how,  Mr.  Brackett,  may  that  knowledge 
be  of  interest  to  you  ? 

Bra.  Well,  perhaps  it  does  concern  you  more  than 
myself. 

Poe.  Kindly  tell  me  in  what  way  that  I  may  re- 
gret it. 

Bra.  Your  pen  has  been  supplying  matter  for  The 
Comet,  I  believe. 


THE  POET  235 

Poe.  If  you  have  any  doubt  of  it  a  perusal  of  that 
magazine's  issues  for  the  past  two  years  will  satisfy  you. 

Bra.  The  returns  therefrom  have  contributed  some- 
what to  your  comfort,  I  suppose. 

Poe.    Do  you  ? 

Bra.  Ah,  I  am  mistaken  ?  Then  I  have  less  hesita- 
tion to  tell  you  that  the  articles  recently  submitted  are 
unavailable. 

Poe.  You  tell  me !  What  have  you  to  do  with  it  ? 
Who  are  you  ? 

Bra.    I  am  the  present  editor  of  The  Comet. 

Poe.    You! 

Bra.  I !  You  see  I  am  in  a  position  to  speak  with 
authority,  — and  it  is  only  just  to  tell  you  that  your  ar- 
ticles will  meet  with  no  further  recognition  in  that 
quarter. 

Poe.  Brackett.  .  .  I  have  been  very  ill.  I  wrote 
those  things  on  what  I  believed  to  be  my  death  bed.  My 


Bra.  I  should  say  then  that  you  are  in  great  need  of 
money. 

Poe.  God  help  me,  I  am !  You  know  I  am  not  one 
to  beg! 

Bra.  But  it  's  beg  or  starve  with  you,  eh?  (Poe 
looks  at  him  silently)  Well,  I  should  advise  you  to  make 
application  without  loss  of  time  to  some  one  who  does 
not  know  you  quite  so  well  as  the  new  editor  of  The 
Comet.  Good  morning. 

Poe.  (Calling  to  him  as  he  stands  in  door)  I  say, 
Brackett!  (Brackett  turns)  I  should  advise  you  to 
change  the  name  of  The  Comet  as  well  as  its  editor. 
Suppose  you  call  it  The  Falling  Star?  Ha!  ha!  (Exit 
Brackett)  Curse  me  for  a  whining  dog— but  Vir- 
ginia— 

(Goes  out) 


236  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Bookseller.  (Arranging  books)  Queer  chap.  We 
public  men  get  to  know  all  sorts.  That  book  will  be 
mine  yet.  It 's  a  good  seller  at  ten  dollars,  and  blest  if 
I  wouldn't  like  to  help  the  wretch  out  with  fifty  cents. 
He '11  be  back. 

(Enter  Helen) 

Hel.  I  wish  to  buy  the  book  the  gentleman  has  just 
left  with  you. 

Bookseller.  Why  ma'am,  he's  gone  and  took  it 
with  him. 

Hel.    Took  it  with  him  ? 

Bookseller.  Yes,  ma'am,  and  thereby  I've  lost  time 
and  trade.  (Aside)  She'd  give  fifteen! 

Hel.    He  needed  money  ? 

Bookseller.  Well,  I  should  guess  so,  ma'am.  That's 
the  last  book  he  had.  He  told  me  about  it  before. 
He 's  been  bringin'  them  all  here.  I  think  he  '11  be  back, 
ma'am,  and  I'll  keep  the  book  for  you. 

Hel.  Thank  you.  (Turns  to  go.  Sees  letter  on  the 
floor  and  picks  it  up)  Why,  'tis.  .  .  he  dropped  it!  I 

wonder  if  I  may he  is  suffering.  .  .  that  shabby 

coat.  .  .  and  he  is  so  proud.  I  think  I  ought  to  read  it. 
I  must  know  where  to  find  him.  (Looks  at  letter)  Ford- 
ham  !  (Reads) 

My  Dear  Son :  One  last  prayer  the  mother  of  your 
Virginia  makes  to  you.  She  is  dying.  Come  and  sit  by 
her  and  she  will  carry  a  smile  to  her  grave.  Do  not 
stay  away  because  you  can  not  bear  to  witness  her  suf- 
fering,—  because  you  have  nothing  to  give  her.  Come, 
and  by  your  loving  presence  lessen  her  pain.  God  bless 
you!  Your  devoted  mother,  MARIA  CLEMM. 

(Helen  stands  trembling  and  holding  the  letter).  .  . 
And  I  hurt  him.  .  .  I  hurt  him.  .  .  . 
(CURTAIN) 


THE  POET  237 

Scene  II:  Foe's  cottage,  Fordham.  A  room  almost 
bare.  Virginia  sleeping  on  bed.  Foe's  cloak  over  her. 
Mrs.  Clemm  kneeling  in  prayer  beside  her.  Foe  enters, 
carrying  a  bundle  of  broken  sticks  which  he  lays  down 
softly,  one  by  one,  on  the  hearth,  looking  anxiously  to- 
ward the  bed.  Mrs.  Clemm  rises  and  comes  to  the  fire) 

Mrs.  C.  My  child,  you  have  been  out  in  the  snow 
without  your  cloak !  (Brushes  snow  from  his  shoulders) 

Foe.  Could  I  take  the  least  warmth  from  yon  shiv- 
ering angel  ? 

Mrs.  C.  You  forget  that  you,  too,  are  ill.  O,  my 
boy,  be  careful,  or  I  shall  soon  be  childless  in  the  world. 
One  is  already  lost.  .  .  . 

Foe.  Not  lost.  See  how  she  sleeps !  She  is  better. 
I  know  she  is  better. 

Mrs.  C.    Since  you  came.    We  will  hope  so,  dear. 

Foe.  If  she  would  only  speak  to  us !  O,  why  does 
she  not  speak  ?  Not  once  to-day. 

Mrs.  C.    She  is  very  weak,  my  son. 

Foe.  I  could  bear  it  so  long  as  she  could  tell  us  there 
was  no  pain.  .  .  but  now  she  only  looks  at  us.  .  .  Oh — 

Mrs.  C.    You  will  control  yourself  for  her  sake. 

Foe.    Yes,  yes,  for  her  sake. 

Mrs.  C.  It  will  take  her  last  breath  to  see  you  dis- 
turbed. 

Foe.  I  know!  I  know!  Have  no  fear,  mother.  I 
am  strong  now. 

Vir.    Edgar !     (He  flies  to  the  bed) 

Foe.    My  darling ! 

Vir.  I  am  better,  dear.  Mamma!  (Mrs.  Clemm 
goes  to  her)  I  feel  so  rested,  mamma. 

Foe.  I  told  you!  She  is  better!  And  you  will  sit 
up  a  little  now,  dear  ?  I  will  carry  you  to  the  fire. 

Mrs.  C.    My  boy ! 

Foe.    O,  mother,  don't  you   see  how  well  she  is? 


238          SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Look  at  her  cheeks  —  her  eyes  —  how  beautiful! 

Vir.  (Smiling-)  Hear  him,  mamma  !  How  proud  he 
is  !  He  must  always  have  it  that  his  wife  is  beautiful. 

Poe.    But  it  is  so  true,  my  dearest  ! 

Vir.  Let  me  believe  it,  for  it  is  sweet  to  think  that  I 
have  been  that,  at  least,  to  you. 

Poe.    O,  my  darling,  you  have  been  everything  ! 

Vir.  You  think  so  now,  dear,  and  I  love  to  hear 
you  say  it. 

Poe.    And  you  will  get  well  for  me  ? 

Vir.  No,  O  no  !  That  would  bring  all  your  troubles 
back.  You  will  live  a  great  life,  Edgar,  when  you  have 
left  this  little  care-bundle  of  a  wife  behind  you. 

Poe.    O,  don't,  Virginia  !  I  shall  do  nothing  without 


you 


Vir.  You  will  do  everything.  I  am  the  wise  one 
now,  Edgar.  And,  dear,  while  I  can  talk.  .  .  I  must  ask 
you.  .  .  must  beg  you.  .  .  I  must  hear  you  say  that  you 
forgive  me. 

Poe.    Forgive  you! 

Vir.  Yes,  dear.  I  was  so  young.  .  .  I  thought  I 
could  help  you.  .  .  and  so  I  let  you  marry  me.  I  did 
not  know.  I  thought  because  I  loved  you  so  much  that 
I  could  make  you  happy.  But  women  who  can  only  love 
are  not  the  women  who  help.  They  must  be  wise  and 
strong  too,  and  oh,  so  many  other  wonderful  things.  If 
they  are  not,  then  all  the  love  only  hurts  and  makes 
things  go  wrong. 

Poe.    O,  little  angel  ! 

Vir.  Yes.  .  little  angel.  .  .  when  I  ought  to  have 
been  a  brave,  great  angel  who  could  bear  heaven  on  her 
wings.  Long  ago  I  knew  it,  Edgar.  When  the  truth 
came  I  looked  every  way  and  there  was  no  help.  Then 
when  I  found  I  was  to  die,  it  seemed  that  God  had  pitied 
and  helped  me.  For  that  was  the  onl3'  way.  .  .  .  O, 


THE  POET  239 

these  little  women  who  can  do  nothing  but  love !  I  wish 
I  could  take  them  all  with  me.  These  tears  are  for 
them,  not  for  myself,  darling.  O,  I  am  happy,  but  they 
must  wait.  .  .  they  can  not  die.  How  you  shiver !  You 
must  take  your  cloak.  I  am  warm  now.  Indeed,  I  am 

quite  comfortable Don't — don't  weep.  You 

must  be  happy  because  I  am.  Let  us  smile  the  rest  of 
the  time,  darling, — it — is  such  a  little  while. 

Poe.  (Brokenly)  Yes.  .  .  .  yes.  .  .  .  O  little  flower, 
little  flower,  dropping  back  to  God's  bosom,  how  have  I 
dared  to  touch  thee ! 

Vir.  (Rubbing  her  hand  on  his  arm)  'Tis  damp! 
You  have  been  out  ?  O,  my  dear,  you  must,  must  take 
your  cloak!  I  am  quite,  quite  warm!  See,  feel  my 
hands !  (Smiling) 

Poe.     (Taking  her  hands)    Little  icicles ! 

Vir.  You  have  been  out !  O,  save  yourself  for  the 
great  things.  .  .  now  I  am  going  out  of  your  way. 
Don't  let  my  death  be  as  vain  as  my  life.  Let  that  count 
for  something,  Edgar.  O,  promise  me  you  will  live  for 
your  genius'  sake,  you  will  be  true  to  your  heavenly  gift ! 
Kneel  by  me  and  promise ! 

Poe.    I.  .  .  promise. 

Vir.    Dear  husband.  .  .  I.  .  .     (faints) 

Mrs.  C.    O,  she  is  gone ! 

Poe.  No !  She  faints !  My  beautiful  idol !  O,  some 
wine !  Heaven  and  earth  for  some  wine ! 

Mrs.  C.    She  looks  at  us !    My  daughter ! 

Poe.  O,  do  not  try  to  speak!  Let  your  beautiful 
eyes  do  all  the  talking ! 

Mrs.  C.  She  looks  toward  the  fire.  She  would  have 
you  go,  Edgar,  and  try  to  keep  warm.  Come,  dear. 
(Poe  kisses  Virginia  gently,  and  goes  to  fireside,  looking 
back  adoringly)  Do  not  look  at  her,  and  she  will  sleep 
again. 


240  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER   PLAYS 

Poe.  Ah,  God !  It  will  take  more  than  sleep  to  help 
her.  And  I  can  give  her  nothing  —  nothing ! 

Mrs.  C.  Don't,  Edgar  !  Remember  your  terrible  ill- 
ness—how you  worked  for  her  when  fever  was  burning 
your  brain — until  your  pen  fell  from  your  hand. 

Poe.    I  brought  her  to  this  land  of  ice  and  snow ! 

Mrs.  C.  No.  Destiny  brought  her.  We  lost  our 
home.  Your  work  was  here  —  and  she  would  not  stay 
behind  you. 

Poe.    A  man  would  have  saved  her ! 

Mrs.  C.  O,  my  boy,  do  not  take  this  burden  on  your 
soul !  For  once  spare  yourself ! 

Poe.    I  can  not  even  give  her  food ! 

Mrs.  C.     (Restraining him)    My  son,  she  sleeps. 

Poe.  Yes.  .  sleep.  .  .  let  me  not  rob  her  of  that  too ! 
Be  quiet.  .  .  just  be  quiet.  .  .  while  she  dies.  (Seats 
himself  with  strange  calmness)  Come,  mother,  let  us  be 
cheerful.  Take  this  chair.  Let  us  be  rational.  Let  us 
think.  Death  is  strange  only  because  we  do  not  think 
enough.  God  must  breathe.  Life  is  the  exhalation, 
death  the  inhalation  of  deity.  He  breathes  out,  and  the 
Universe  flames  forth  with  all  her  wings  — her  suns  and 
clusters  of  suns  —  down  to  her  mote-like  earth,  the  but- 
terfly of  space,  trimmed  with  its  gaudy  seasons,  and 
nourishing  on  its  back  the  parasitical  ephemeran,  Man ! 

Mrs.C.    My  love  — 

Poe.  Be  calm,  mother.  Be  calm.  Then  the  great  in- 
breathing begins.  The  creative  warmth  no  longer  goes 
out.  The  parasites  vanish  first,  then  the  worlds  on  which 
they  ride,  and  last  the  mighty  suns, — all  sink  "into  the 
still,  potential  unity,  and  await  the  recurrent  breath 
which  may  bear  another  universe,  unlike  our  own, 
where  the  animate  may  control  the  inanimate,  the  or- 
ganic triumph  over  the  inorganic, — (rising)  ay,  man  him- 
self may  dominate  nature,  control  the  relentless  ecliptic, 


THE  POET  241 

and  say  to  the  ages  of  ice  and  fire  '  Ye  shall  not  tread  on 
me!' 

Mrs.  C.    Edgar! 

Poe.  I  beg  your  pardon.  We  must  be  calm.  (Re- 
sumes his  seat)  But  God  will  not  stop  breathing  (with 
bitter  sarcasm)  though  your  daughter — and  my  wife  — 
is  dying.  (Mrs.  Clemm  weeps.  He  turns  to  the  -win- 
dow) Do  you  know  that  elephants  once  nibbled  boughs 
out  there  where  the  snow  is  falling  ?  They  ran  a  mighty 
race — and  died  —  but  no  tears  were  shed.  In  the  records 
of  the  cosmos,  if  man  is  written  down  at  all,  I  think  he 
will  be  designated  as  the  'weeping  animal.' 

Mrs.  C.    Are  you  human  ? 

Poe.  I  regret  that  I  belong  to  that  feeble  and 
limited  variety  of  creation,  but  with  the  next  self, 
diffusion  of  the  concentrated  Infinite  I  may  be  the  Sun 
himself! 

Mrs.  C.     O,  my  mother-heart ! 

Poe.  Think  a  little  more  and  you  will  forget  it.  The 
heart  makes  the  being  there  on  the  bed  your  daughter — 
my  wife— but  the  mind  makes  her  a  part  of  the  divine 
force  which  has  chosen  her  shape  for  its  visible  flower. 
The  heart  is  wrung  by  the  falling  of  the  bloom,  for  it  is 
endeared  to  that  only,  but  the  mind  rejoices  in  its  re- 
united divinity.  Come.  .  (Moves  a  step  toward  the  bed) 
I  can  look  on  her  now.  .  and  be  quiet.  Sweet  rose,  I  can 
watch  your  petals  fall.  But  they  fall  early.  .  .  they  fall 
early.  .  .  .  blasted  in  the  May.  Not  by  the  divine  breath 
drawing  you  home,  but  by  my  mortal,  shattering  hand ! 
I  promised  you  sun  and  dew.  ...  I  have  given  you  frost 
and  shadows.  O  God !  0  God !  let  me  not  think !  Keep 
me  a  little,  weeping  child ! 

Mrs.  C.  Dear  son,  cast  out  this  bitterness.  Only 
your  love  and  devotion  have  kept  her  alive  so  long. 

Poe.    No!  I  touched  her  like  a  wing  of  doom,  and 


242  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER   PLAYS 

she  fell  blasted !  (She  tries  to  soothe  him)  No,  no!  Call 
devils  from  hell  to  curse  me ! 

(A  knock  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Clemm  opens  it  and  a 
basket  is  delivered  to  her.  Poe,  deep  in  agony,  does  not 
notice.  She  takes  things  from  the  basket) 

Mrs.  C.    O,  Edgar !    Wine,  and  soft  blankets ! 

(He  looks  tip,  and  rushes  across  to  her) 

Poe.  Wine !  wine !  O,  spirit  that  bendest  from  pity- 
ing clouds,  a  mortal  thanks  thee !  Quick,  mother,  these 
drops  of  strength  will  give  her  back  to  us ! 

Mrs.  C.  She  sleeps,  my  son,  which  is  ease  more  pre- 
cious than  these  drops  can  give. 

Poe.     (Taking  bottle)    Give  it  to  me ! 

Mrs.  C.    Edgar,  Edgar,  do  not  wake  her ! 

Poe.  Lenore,  Lenore,  out  of  thy  dream,  though 
't  were  the  fairest  ever  blown  to  mortal  from  Elysium ! 
This  will  put  thee  to  such  smiles  that  dreams — 

Mrs.  C.    Be  quiet,  for  God's  sake ! 

Poe.  Quiet!  'Tis  a  word  for  clods  and  stones! 
You'd  hold  me  from  her  when  my  hand  brings  life? 
(Rushes  to  cupboard  and  gets  a  glass  which  he  fills) 

Mrs.  C.    Just  a  little,  Edgar.    Too  much  would— 

Poe.  She  shall  drink  it  all,  by  Heaven !  I  will  save 
her! 

(Mrs.  Clemm  sinks  to  a  chair,  helpless  and  sobbing. 
A  knock  at  the  door  which  neither  hears.  Enter  Helen. 
As  Poe  turns  to  approach  the  bed  he  faces  her,  stares, 
and  lets  the  glass  drop  shivering) 

Poe.    You ! 

Hel.  I,  Edgar.  You  see  I  can  remember  my  friends  — 
and  I've  come  to  scold  you  for  not  —  letting  me  know  — 

Poe.    It  was  you  who  sent — 

Hel.  Some  blankets  soft  as  summer  clouds  for  the 
most  beautiful  lady  in  the  world  ?  And  wine  delicate 
enough  for  a  fairy's  throat?  I  knew  you  would  not 


THE  POET  243 

have  it  else.  (Turns  to  Mrs.  Clemm)  You  do  not  know 
me,  but  — 

Mrs.  C.  (Taking  her  hand)  I  know  you  are  a  good 
woman  reaching  a  hand  to  me  in  my  sorrow. 

Hel.     (Embracing  her)     No.  .  my  arms ! 

(Poe  goes  to  bed  and  kneels  by  Virginia.  Speaks 
softly  to  her,  then  rises  and  brings  a  little  wine) 

Poe.    Just  a  drop,  dear,  —  a  butterfly's  portion. 

(Virginia  drinks) 

Hel.     (To  Mrs.  Clemm)    How  is  she  ? 

Mrs.  C.  She  will  have  but  one  more  word  for  us — 
goodbye. 

Hel.  Can  I  —  may —  O,  you  must  let  me  do  some- 
thing for  her — for  you!  Do  not  make  me  miserable  by 
saying  there  is  nothing  I  can  do. 

Mrs.  C.  There  is.  .  .  something.  I  have  never 
begged  — 

Hel.  Do  not  use  such  a  word.  It  is  you  who  give  — 
who  make  me  happy. 

Mrs.  C.  But  I  will  beg  this.  Some  linen  for  her  last 
robe. 

Hel.    God  bless  you  for  telling  me ! 

Poe.  (Rising  from  his  knees  by  Virginia)  Helen, 
Virginia  would  speak  to  you. 

Hel.  O,  save  the  precious  breath!  (Approaches 
bed)  Ah.  .  how  lovely.  .  .  I  understand.  .  . 

Vir.  (Lifting  her  head)  Helen.  .  .  .  help  my  Edgar. 
(Sinks  back.  Poe  lays  his  head  on  her  pillow.  Helen 
stands  with  her  arm  about  Mrs.  Clemm.  Curtain  falls, 
and  rises  on  same  room  at  night.  Virginia's  body  lies 
on  the  bed.  Poe  watches  alone.  A  candle  burns  on 
table) 

Poe.  (Standing  by  bed)  .  .  So  low  in  sleep,  little 
girl?  .  .  I  took  thee  mid  thy  roses.  O,  broken  gentle- 
ness, little  saint-love,  move  but  a  hand,  a  finger,  to  tell 


244  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

me  them  art  still  my  pleading  angel !  .  .  Not  one  breath's 
life.  Still.  .  .  quite  still.  O,  might  such  rest  be  mine ! 
(Turns  away)  I '11  write.  (Goes  to  table)  I  promised. 
Yes.  .  .  I  '11  write.  Behind  the  glorious  chancel  of  the 
mind  still  swings  the  incense  to  the  deathless  gods !  .  . 
(Sits  and  writes)  .  .  .  No.  (Rising)  No  rhymes — for 
Poesy  must  mourn  to-night.  (Goes  toward  bed)  Too 
much  of  her  is  dead.  (Gazes  at  Virginia)  Cold.  .  .  cold. 
What  art  thou  death  ?  Ye  demons  of  a  mind  distraught, 
keep  ye  apace  till  I  have  fathomed  this  !  .  .  .  Ha !  What 
scene  is  that  ?  (Stares  as  at  visions)  A  valley  laid  in 
the  foundations  of  darkness !  The  unscalable  cliffs  jut 
to  heaven,  and  on  the  amethystine  peaks  sit  angels  weep- 
ing into  the  abyss  where  creatures  run  to  and  fro  with- 
out escape!  Some  eat,  some  laugh,  some  weep,  some 
wonder.  Now  they  make  themselves  candles  whose  little 
beams  eclipse  the  warning  stars.  .  and  in  the  pallid  light 
they  dance  and  think  it  sun !  But  on  the  revel  creeps  a 
serpent,  fanged  and  crimson,  with  multitudinous  folds 
lapping  the  dancing  creatures  in  one  heaving  carnage! 
The  candles  die.  .  .  The  stars  cannot  pierce  the  writhing 
darkness.  .  Above  on  the  immortal  headlands  sit  the 
angels,  looking  down  no  more,  for  the  dismal  heap  no 

longer  throbs I  must  write  this !    Now !    While 

I  see  it !  That  moaning  flood  ebbing  to  silence.  .  those 
rosy  promontories  lit  with  angel  wings.  .  .  and  over  all 
as  large  and  still  as  heaven,  the  cold,  unweeping  eyes  of 
God!  ....  (Writes.  .  .  A  tapping  at  the  door.  He  does 
not  hear.  Another  tapping.  He  looks  up)  Who's 
there  ?  .  .  .  This  is  my  vigil.  Nor  devil  nor  angel  shall 
share  it !  ...  (Listens.  Tapping.  He  goes  to  door  and 
throws  it  open)  .  .  Nothing.  .  .  nothing.  .  .  but  darkness. 
(Stands  peering,  and  whispers)  Lenore !  .  .  .  (Closes  door, 
bolts  it,  returns  to  table  and  writes  silently.  Utter  still- 
ness, then  a  rattling  at  the  window.  Poe  leaps  up) 


THE  POET  245 

What 's  that  ?  (The  shutter  is  blown  open.  Poe  stands 
watching.  Araven  files  in  and  perches  above  door)  Out, 
you  night- wing!  (He  looks  at  raven  silently)  You  won't? 
Why,  sit  there  then !  You  're  but  a  feather !  (Sits  and 
writes.  After  a  moment  rises  and  reads) 

Out— out  are  the  lights— out  all! 

And  over  each  quivering  form, 
The  curtain,  a  funeral  pall, 
Conies  down  with  the  rush  of  a  storm  — 
And  the  angels  all  pallid  and  wan, 

Uprising,  unveiling  affirm 
That  the  play  is  the  tragedy  '[Man ! ' 
And  its  hero  the  Conqueror  Worm  ! 

Ah!  the  thought  pales  from  these  lines  like  light  from 
ch-ing  cinders.  Poetry  is  but  ashes  telling  that  a  fire  has 
passed.  (Sits  gloomily.  Suddenly  remembers  the  raven, 
turns  and  stares  at  it)  You  bird  of  damnation,  leave 
me  in  peace  with  my  dead!  .  .  .  O,  dreaming  fool,  'tis 
nothing.  .  .  .  My  mind  's  a  chaos  that  surges  up  this 
fancy.  (Tries  to  write,  stops,  goes  on,  trembles,  and 
looks  up)  .  .  Can  I  know  fear  ?  I,  the  very  nursling  of 
dreams  ?  Who  have  lived  in  a  world  more  tenanted 
with  ghosts  than  men  ?  I  can  not  be  afraid.  .  .  .  (Tries 
to  write.  Drops  pen.  Shudders,  looking  with  furtive 
fear  at  the  raven)  ...  I  am.  .  .  I  am  afraid.  .  .  .  Vir- 
ginia !  (Creeps  toward  bed)  Stay  with  me,  little  bride. 
My  little  rose-bride !  (Fingers  along  coverlet,  looking 
at  raven)  Do  not  leave  me.  Quick,  little  love !  Give  me 
life  in  a  kiss!  (Touches  her  hand,  shrinks,  and  springs 
up)  Dead !  .  .  (Leans  against  foot  of  bed,  wildly  facing 
the  raven)  Speak,  fiend !  From  what  dim  region  of 
unbodied  souls  hast  come  ?  What  hell  ungorged  thee  for 
her  messenger?  What  sentence  have  the  devils  passed 


246  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

upon  me  ?  To  what  foul  residence  in  some  blasted  star 
am  I  condemned  ?  Speak !  By  every  sigh  that  poisons 
happy  breath !  —  by  every  misery  that  in  me  rocks  and 
genders  her  swart  young! — by  yonder  life  that  now  in 
golden  ruin  lies !  —  I  charge  thee  speak !  How  long  shall 
I  wander  without  rest  ?  How  long  whirl  in  the  breath 
of  unforgiving  winds  ?  Or  burn  in  the  refining  forges  of 
the  sun  ?  When  will  the  Universe  gather  me  to  her  heart 
and  give  me  of  her  still,  unthrobbing  peace  ?  Speak ! 
When  —  O  when  will  this  driven  spirit  be  at  home  ? 

(Silence.  Poe  listens  with  intense  expectation  and 
fear.  The  raven  tiies  out)  It  spoke!  (Hoarsely)  It 
spoke!  I  heard  it!  (Whispers)  Nevermore!  (He  falls 
in  a  swoon.  Candle  fiickers  in  the  wind  and  goes  out. 
Darkness) 

(CURTAIN) 


ACT  V. 


Scene  I:  Poe's  lodging,  Baltimore.  Small  room. 
Cot,  table,  and  one  chair.  Poe  writing) 

Poe.  (Pressing  his  temples)  Throb  —  throb — but 
you  shall  finish  this.  (Writes)  You,  too,  rebel,  old  pen  ? 
On,  on  like  a  lusty  cripple,  and  we  '11  scratch  out  of  this 
hole.  (Lifting  pen)  Why,  old  fellow,  this  will  buy 
bread.  O,  bread,  bread,  bread,  for  one  sweet  crumb  of 
thee  to  feed  an  angel  here!  (Touching  his  forehead) 
Gordon  will  not  fail  me.  His  letter  will  come  to-day. 


THE  POET  247 

And  with  his  help  I'll  get  on  good  ground  once  more. 
And  then  !  .  ( Writes.  Drops  pen  with  a  groan)  .  .  Gor- 
don's letter  must  come  to-day.  O,  I  would  live,  would 
live,  for  seeds  are  gendering  in  my  mind  that  might  their 
branches  throw  above  the  clouds  and  shake  immortal 
buds  to  this  bare  earth !  .  .  .  (Looks  at  writing)  Words ! 
Ye  are  but  coffins  for  imagination !  No  more  of  you ! 
(Crushes  paper)  Eternity's  in  labor  with  this  hour! 
(Leaps  up)  I  could  make  Time  my  page  to  carry  mem- 
ories from  star  to  star !  O  Heaven,  wouldst  thou  vouch- 
safe thy  visions  to  these  eyes,  then  fill  them  with  cold 
clay?  Pour  to  these  ears  thine  own  philosophies,  then 
send  the  crawling  worm  to  pluck  their  treasure  out? 
(Fa/7s  to  chair.  Enter  Mrs.  Schmidt) 

Mrs.  S.     (Holding  out  letter)     Here  it  is,  sir. 

Poe.     (Rousing)     What,  Smidgkin  ? 

Mrs.  S.    The  letter  's  come,  sir. 

Poe.  Thank  you.  (Takes  letter.  Mrs.  Schmidt 
waits  expectantly)  If  you  will  be  so  good,  Smidgkin— 
I  mean  if  you  will  be  so  cruel  as  to  bereave  me  of  your 
presence  while  I  break  this  very  personal  seal — very  per- 
sonal, I  assure  you  — 

Mrs.  S.  No,  sir.  I  stay  to  see  what  's  inside  o' 
that! 

Poe.  Since  you  desire  it,  madam.  (Starts  to  open 
letter  and  hesitates)  I— hope  you  are  well,  my  good 
Smidgkin. 

Mrs.  S.  Always  am.  Hadn't  you  better  see  what's 
in  it? 

Poe.  To  be  sure.  .  .  .  I  hope  you  have  a  good  fire  in 
your  room  this  chilly  weather,  Smidgkin. 

Mrs.  S.    Always  do.     I  '11  break  it  for  you,  Mr.  Poe. 

Poe.  O,  no,  no !  I  couldn't  think  of  troubling  you. 
The  rain  beats  very  heavily.  I  hope  your-er-roof  will  not 
be  injured. 


248  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

Mrs.  S.  Law  me,  I  had  every  leaf  tinkered  up  them 
sunny  days  last  week.  I  believe  in  preparin'  for  a  rain}^ 
day,  I  do,  Mr.  Poe. 

Poe.  Indeed,  yes,  —  if  only  we  were  all  so  wise,  but, 
alas,  my  dear  Smidgkin,  some  of  us  build  so  high  that 
the  angels  have  to  come  down  and  tinker  our  roofs.  . 
and  when  they  won't,  Smidgkin.  .  .  .  when  they  won't 
(Lays  letter  on  the  table)  .  .  I  hope  you  have  no  er- 
rands to  take  you  from  your  cheerful  fireside  in  weather 
like  this,  Mrs.  Smidgkin. 

Mrs.  S.    My  name  is  Schmidt,  Mr.  Poe. 

Poe.    Pardon  me,  madam. 

Mrs.  S.  Air  you  a  goin'  to  open  that  letter  or  air 
you  not  ? 

Poe.  Why,  good  woman,  to  be  sure  I  am.  I  did  not 
know  you  were  particularly  interested.  Excuse  me. 
Here  goes  —  and  God  mend  the  devil's  work.  (Opens 
letter  and  reads)  'I  have  talked  with  Brackett— ' 
Brackett !  (Drops  letter  and  sits  dumb) 

Mrs.  S.  He  sent  you  the  ten  dollars,  hey  ?  Where  is 
it,  hey  ?  Seems  to  me  that 's  white  paper  with  mighty 
few  marks  on  it !  Not  much  like  a  ten  dollar  bill !  Where 
is  it,  I  say  ?  Lost  in  the  mailbags,  I  reckon !  It  will 
come  by  next  post!  You're  certain — quite  certain, 
Smidgkin !  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Poe,  this  is  once  too  often ! 

Poe.    A  bare,  unfurnished  room  like  this  — 

Mrs.  S.  Is  worth  just  a  dollar  a  week  to  me,  which 
is  exactly  a  dollar  more  than  you  can  pay ! 

Poe.  Mrs.  Smidgkin,  there  is  a  legend  in  the  world 
that  pity  never  wholly  leaves  the  breast  of  woman. 

Mrs.  S.  Shame  to  your  tongue,  Mr.  Poe,  that  says  I 
haven't  been  as  kind  to  youasyour  ownmother — sister! 
Haven't  you  had  this  room  nigh  to  a  month  since 
I've  seen  a  cent  for  it?  Didn't  I  give  you  stale  bread  a 
whole  week,  an'  coffee  a  Sunday  mornin'  ?  An'  you 


THE  POET  249 

dare  say  I'm  not  a  Christian,  merciful  woman?  You 
come  out  o'  here,  or  I  '11  put  hands  on  you,  I  will ! 

Poe.  Mrs.  Smidgkin,  Mrs.  Smidgkin,  are  you  aware 
that  the  rain  pours  outside  like  the  tears  of  the  Danaides 
on  their  wedding  night?  And  speaking  of  weddings, 
Smidgkin — 

Mrs.  S.  Schmidt !  As  you  '11  find  on  my  good  man 's 
tombstone,  an'  some  day  on  my  own,  bless  God ! 

Poe.    O,  do  n't  talk  so,  I  beg  you ! 

Mrs.S.  Why  now,  Mr.  Poe!  Law  me,  who'd  a 
thought  you  could  be  so  softhearted  —  about  a  tomb- 
stone, too ! 

Poe.  As  I  said,  my  dear  madam — speaking  of  wed- 
dings— pray  take  this  chair.  'Tis  all  I  have  to  offer. 
Gladly  will  I  stand  before  you,  though  I  am  but  slightly 
bolstered  within  for  the  attitude.  Speak  to  me,  madam. 
Let  one  thought  fly  from  thy  caging  brow  to  me  a  beg- 
gar vile. 

Mrs.S.    O,  Mr.  Poe! 

Poe.    Thanks  for  the  burden  of  those  syllables. 

Mrs.  S.    My  dear  Mr.  Poe ! 

Poe.  Again  ?  You  overwhelm  me !  Dare  I  speak  ? 
You  have  suspected?  You  know  why  I  linger  in  this 
dear  room — dear  as  the  barrier  that  staves  off  guttery 
death?  This  kindness  is  sincere?  I  may  trust  it  and 
speak  ? 

Mrs.  S.    You  may,  Mr.  Poe. 

Poe.  Well  then,  sweet  Smidgkin,  will  you  open  the 
broad  gates  of  genial  widowhood  to  admit  a  fallen 
wretch  to  the  warmth  of  your  bosom  and  hearthstone — 
particularly  the  latter  ? 

Mrs.  S.  ( With  dignity)  I  presume,  Mr.  Poe,  that  I 
am  addressed  by  an  offer  of  marriage.  I  have  had 
offers  before,  Mr.  Poe,  —  one  an  undertaker  who  drove  a 
good  business,  but  he  looked  for  all  the  world  like  one  of 


250  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

his  own  corpses  an'  what  is  business  says  I  to  a  woman 
in  good  circumstances  with  a  longin'  heart  ?  I  don't 
mind  sayin'  it,  Mr.  Poe,  a  nice  lookin'  man  always  did 
take  my  eye,  an'  you  '11  be  a  pretty  figure  when  you  're 
plumped  out  a  bit,  indeed  you  will,  but  your  addresses 
of  this  offer  is  somewhat  unusual,  an'  if  you  '11  give  me 
time  — 

Poe.  The  weather,  madam,  will  admit  of  no  delay. 
Since  you  are  so  determined,  I  must  give  up  hope  and 
seek  shelter  under  Jove's  great  canopy. 

Mrs.S.  O,  don't  go  there,  Mr.  Poe— it's  a  bad 
place,  that  Canpy  house,  an'  I've  heard  Jove  talked 
about  for  a  vile  barkeep!  I  guess  since  you're  so 
impetus  I  '11  say  yes  to  these  addresses  of  marriage,  Mr. 
Poe. 

Poe.    Ha!  ha!  ha! 

Mrs.  S.  What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Poe  ?  My  dear 
Eddie,  I  should  say ! 

Poe.     I  mean,  madam,  that  death  loves  a  joke. 

Mrs.  S.  O,  my  sweet  Eddie,  don't  be  talkin'  about 
death.  You're  so  pale  I  don't  wonder — and  a'most 
starved  out  I  '11  venture  my  word  for  it.  But  you  won't 
know  yourself  in  a  week.  I've  got  the  sweetest  room 
downstairs— all  in  blue  an'  white,  with  a  bed  three 
feet  o'  feathers,  soft  as  a  goosebreast,  I  warrant,  an' 
I'll  tuck  you  in  an'  bring  you  a  toddy  that'll  warm  you 
to  your  toes,  it  will,  an' — 

Poe.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Well,  why  not?  I  seize  this 
wretched  plank  or  sink  with  all  that  in  me  is.  Men  have 
done  it.  But  not  Edgar  Poe !  Sell  my  soul  for  a  broth- 
dish —  a  saucepan  —  a  feather-bed — 

Mrs.  S.  O,  he 's  out  of  his  mind,  sure  he  is !  My 
sweet  Eddie,  he 's  loved  me  distracted ! 

Poe.    Can  this  be  woman  ? 

Mrs.  S.    Law  me ! 


THE  POET  251 

Poe.  The  sex  that  knew  a  Virginia— that  knows  a 
Helen  ?  No !  there  are  men,  women  .  .  and  angels ! 

Mrs.  S.  Look  here,  Mr.  Poe,  don't  you  mention  no 
women  'round  me!  O,  Eddy,  my  Eddy!  (Offers  to 
caress  him) 

Poe.  Away!  You  wench  from  Venus'  kitchen! 
(Going)  This  weather  .  .  .  once  I  could  have  braved  it 
with  the  wildest  wing  that  ever  flew.  But  now  .... 
(coughs  wretchedly) 

Mrs.  S.    No  rent  an'  no  husband  either ! 

Poe.  Up,  heart,  we  go !  Henceforth  I  live  by  spirit- 
bread!  Lead  me,  ye  unseen  comrades,  to  immortal 
feasts !  (Exit) 

(CURTAIN) 


Scene  II:     An  hour  later.    A  bar-room.     Door  in 

center,  rear.    Four  men  at  table,  left,  rear,  playing  cards. 

Haines.    Was  afraid  you  wouldn't  show  up  to-night, 

Juggy- 

'  JuSSers-  Nothing  like  a  stormy  night  for  a  good 
game.  Never  miss  one.  Rain  brings  me  luck. 

Black.  Then,  by  Jacks,  you  '11  have  it  all  your  way 
to-night.  It's  pouring  hogsheads.  Your  deal,  Sharp. 
(They  play  in  silence.  Poe  enters,  rear,  walks  uncer- 
tainly across  the  room  and  takes  a  seat,  right,  front. 
There  seems  to  be  life  only  in  his  eyes,  their  burning  light 
revealing  a  soul  struggling  free  from  a  corpse.  He  sits 
unnoticed  for  a  short  time) 

Sharp.  (To  barkeeper)  Say,  Thomas,  I  thought 
this  was  a  gentleman's  house.  What's  that  in  the  cor- 
ner ?  Looks  like  a  coffin  might  'a'  spilt  it  on  the  way  to 
the  graveyard. 

Bark.     (In  lower  tone)     He's  one  o'   these  writin' 


252  SEMIRAMIS  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

fellers  in  hard  luck.  I've  let  him  hang  around  here  a 
good  deal,  for  he's  always  quiet  and  gives  me  no  show 
for  kickin'  him  out.  But  say  the  word  and  he  goes. 

Haines.    Looks  more  like  a  sick  man  than  a  bum. 

Sharp.  Bah!  He  can  drink  till  he  wets  his  boots. 
I  know  that  sort  of  a  face. 

Bark.    Never  drinks  anything  'round  here. 

Sharp.  Good  reason.  You  don't  wear  a  charity 
medal. 

Jug.    Let  him  stay  for  luck. 

Sharp.  Whose  luck?  You 're  doing  all  the  winning 
to-night,  Juggers.  He's  a  Jonah  for  the  rest  of  us.  I 
want  his  eye  off  me,  I  say. 

Black.  O,  let  him  alone.  I'd  ask  a  burglar  to  have 
a  seat  in  my  house  a  night  like  this  —  'pon  honor,  I 
would.  Play  up.  (They  play  on) 

Poe.  What  a  noble  palace  is  here!  How  the 
gleaming  vault  reaches  to  heaven  and  mocks  the  stars ! 
What  resplendent  lights!  As  though  the  master  had 
taken  burning  planets  for  his  candles!  How  far  they 
throw  their  beams  —  around  the  world  and  into  the 
nether  sea ! 

Jug.  (To  Haines,  who  is  looking  at  Poe)  Mind 
your  play  there,  Haines. 

Poe.  I  know  this  place.  It  is  the  poet's  house  of 
dream  that  all  my  life  I  've  sought  to  reach.  I  am  dying 
now,  and  they  let  me  in,  because  I  have  been  true  to 
them.  The  master  will  read  it  in  my  face.  I  have  not 
eaten  of  the  flesh-pots !  I  have  beggared  my  body,  but 
I  have  not  beggared  my  soul ! 

Sharp.    Curse  it,  Juggers !    It 's  yours  again ! 

Haines.  Take  your  medicine,  Sharp.  A  man  must 
know  how  to  lose  as  well  as  win. 

Poe.  Yonder  is  the  master,  arrayed  all  in  white  and 
gold  and  sapphire.  Those  angels  that  attend  him  are 


THE  POET  253 

poets  wrapped  in  fires  of  love.  They  talk  about  me 
now,  and  ask  if  I  am  worthy  to  come  in.  O,  I  have 
loved  ye  well,  immortal  dead!  Through  noons  that 
burnt  the  world  I  've  tracked  your  dewy  shadows !  No 
day  died  in  my  eyes  but  ye  were  whispering  priests! 
And  midnight  stars  have  learned  your  names  of  me ! 

Sharp.  (Throwing  down  cards)  It's  that  hoodoo 
in  the  corner ! 

Poe.  How  wonderful  their  voices!  They  speak  a 
strange  language,  but  I  can  interpret  it. 

Sharp.    I  '11  not  play  another  card  until  he  goes ! 

Poe.  He  says  that  by  the  trembling  of  the  planet- 
lights  an  earth-soul  come  this  way.  He  sees  me ! 

Black.  Well,  by  Jacks,  I've  got  a  dollar  for  his 
supper  and  bed. 

Poe.  He  says  that  'tis  a  strange  creature  carrying  a 
burning  brand  in  his  bosom. 

Sharp.  You  can  afford  to  be  a  fool.  You've  helped 
Juggers  rake  in. 

Poe.    Not  a  brand,  he  says,  but  an  immortal  star. 

Sharp.  Thomas,  set  that  oil  painting  outside,  will 
you? 

Poe.  They  ask  the  master  if  they  may  come  to  meet 
me.  (Barkeeper  approaches  Poe)  Ah,  the  master  comes 
himself,  for  I  am  one  of  the  chosen. 

Barkeeper.    Get  out  o'  this ! 

Poe.  (Rising  slowly)  Thou  mighty  one,  thy  serv- 
ant hears  thee ! 

Bark.    Eh  ? 

Poe.    I  '11  be  the  humblest  round  thy  throne. 

Bark.  Look  here,  I  was  a  little  soft  about  you,  but 
now  you  just  shove  along ! 

Poe.  I  beg  your  pardon,  —  may  I  ask  the  name  of 
this  planet  ? 

Bark.    Eh  ? 


254          SEMIRAM1S  AND  OTHER   PLAYS 

Foe.    Is  it— the  earth? 

Bark.     (Shaking  him)    None  o' your  squibs ! 

Poe.  (Recognizing  and  throwing  him  off  with 
momentary  strength)  Do  not  touch  me,  George 
Thomas.  I  will  go. 

Black.  (Flinging  him  a  piece  of  silver,  which  falls  to 
the  floor)  There's  a  bed  for  you. 

Poe.  I  dare  not  touch  it,  sir,  lest  I  be  infected,  for 
the  angels  who  look  upon  us  know  that  I  shall  be  in 
health  when  fever  shall  sit  on  your  bones  and  agues 
make  their  bed  in  your  marrow ! 

Jug.  A  gentleman  can't  stand  that  jaw.  Kick  him 
out,  Thomas,  or  I  will. 

Poe.  Do  not  touch  me!  You  walking  clay!  who 
button  your  coats  about  three  meals  a  day  and  think 
you  have  belted  in  the  universe !  Go  listen  to  the  sea 
lapping  rock  and  bone  to  her  oblivious  mill,  and  know 
your  hearts  shall  sleep  as  sand  within  her  shells!  By 
the  dead  worlds  that  drift  in  yonder  void,  and  long  have 
sung  the  swan-song  of  their  deities,  this  too  shall  pass, 
and  ere  it  passes  flesh  shall  learn  its  impotence!  Grey 
stalkers  from  the  past  shall  clutch  the  throat  of  days ! 
All  wrongs  shall  rise  and  gather  their  revenge!  And 
man — 

Sharp.  Here  you  crazy  Tom !  That 's  just  enough ! 
(Tries  to  take  hold  of  Poe) 

Poe.  Off!  See  what  I  see !  The  Conqueror  Worm ! 
Fold  on  fold  the  red-fanged  monster  creeps!  Look! 
your  doom,  ye  swine  with  sodden  eyes  fast  shut  against 
sublimities!  Ye  — 

Jug.  (Taking  Poe  by  the  throat)  I'll  stop  your 
croaking ! 

(Haines  and  Black  pull  Juggers  from  Poe,  who  falls 
to  seat  utterly  exhausted) 

Haines.    Can't  you  keep  your  hands  off  a  sick  man  ? 


THE  POET  255 

Jug.    Sick!    He 's  the  devil! 

Haines.  Then  yon  might  as  well  make  his  acquaint- 
ance. 

Poe.  'Tis  here  ....  death  .  .  .  and  all  is  yet  to 
say.  O,  I  have  chattered  as  a  babe !  Now,  1  could  speak, 
and  dust  is  in  my  month !  .  .  .  Helen,  yon  told  me  to  be 

content  with  the  letters I  have  tried  to  read  .  . 

to  steal  God's  book.  He  has  punished  .  .  but  death 
pays  my  bond.  Soon  I  shall  read  with  His  eyes  and  be 
at  peace.  Peace!  (Gives  a.  dying  shudder)  Never- 
more !  .  .  (Rises,  staggers  to  door  and  opens  it  wide)  O, 
Night,  with  thy  minstrel  winds,  blow  gently  on  me 
dead  ...  for  I  have  been  thy  lover!  (Looks  back  at 
the  men  who  are  gazing  at  him  intently,  and  speaks 
slowly,  erect  and  godlike)  In  His  own  image  created  He 
man !  .  .  (Turns  and  steps  into  the  darkness.) 

(CUKTADf) 


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